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RUDYARD KIPLING. 











KIPLING 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 





CONTENTS. 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


Danny Deever.. 

“ ^ommy ”.. 

“ Fuzzy Wuzzy n . 

Oonts!. 

Loot.. 

Soldier, Soldier. 

A'he Sous of the Widow.... 

Troopin’., 

Gunga Din. 

Mandalay...... 

The Young British Soldier 

Screw-Guns. 

Belts. 


1 

5 

9 

IS 

18 

23 

26 

29 

32 

38 

43 

48 

6 ? 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


General Summary. 69 

Army Headquarters. 61 

Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink. 64 

A Legend of the Foreign Office. 66 

The Story of Uriah . 69 

The Post that Fitted. 71 

Public Waste.. 75 

Delilah... 79 


























CONTENTS, 


What Happened.*. 88 

Pink Dominoes. 88 

The Man who could Write. 91 

Municipal. 04 

A Code of Morals.*.98 

The Last Department... 102 


OTHER VERSES. 

To the Unknown Goddess. .. 107 

The Rupaiyat of Omar Kal’vin.110 

La Nuit Blanche. 113 

My Rival. 118 

The Lovers’ Litany. 121 

A Ballad of Burial_.*. 124 

Divided Destinies. 127 

The Masque of Plenty. 130 

The Mare’s Nest. 139 

Possibilities. 142 

Christmas in India.145 

Pagett, M. P. 149 

The Song of the Women.. 153 

A Ballade of Jakko Hill. 157 

The Plea of the Simla Dancers.....159 

The Ballad of Fisher’s Boarding-House. 163 

“As the Bell Clinks”.169 

An Old Song. 174 

Certain Maxims of Hafiz. 173 

The Grave of the Hundred Head. 185 

The Moon of Other Days. 191 

The Overland Mail. 193 

What the People Said. ..196 

The Undertaker’s Horse... 199 

































CONTENTS. 


v 

PAG* 

The Fall of Jock Gillespie. 208 

Arithmetic on the Frontier. 207 

One Viceroy Resigns.216 

The Betrothed.222 

A Tale of Two Cities. 226 

Giffen’s Debt.234 

In Springtime.238 

Two Months.240 

The Galley-Slave.243 

L’Envoi. 249 

The Conundrum of the Workshops. 251 

The Explanation. 255 

The Gift of the Sea.257 

Evarra and His Gods.286 







































































































- 











' 









































































BABRACK.ROOM BALLADS. 



















































































































































DANNY DEEVER. 


n 

O 


u I’ve drunk 'is beer a score o’ times/' said Files- 
on-Parade. 

’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone/’ the Color- 
Sergeant said. 

They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must 
mark ’im to ’is place, 

For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must 
look ’im in the face ; 

Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the regi¬ 
ment’s disgrace, 

While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in 
the mornin’. 

u What’s that so black agin the sun ? ” said File» 
on-Parade. 

u It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,” the Color- 
Sergeant said. 

“ What’s that that whimpers over’ead ? ” said 
Files-on-Parade. 

“ It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,” the Color- 
Sergeant said. 


& BARRACK-ROOM BALLAD*. 

For they’re clone with Danny Deever, you 
can ’ear the quickstep play, 

The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re 
mar chin’ us away; 

Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ 
they’ll want their beer to-day, 

After hangin' iHvny Deever in the mornin 


“ tommy / 7 


h 


“ TOMMY.” 

I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer, 

The publican 7 e up an 7 sez, “We serve no red¬ 
coats here / 7 

The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an 7 gig¬ 
gled fit to die, 

I outs into the street again, an 7 to myself sez I: 

0 it’s Tommy this, an 7 Tommy that, an 
66 Tommy go away ; 77 

But it 7 s“ Thank you Mister Atkins , 77 when 
the band begins to play, 

The band begins to play, my boys, the 
band begins to play, 

0 it 7 s “ Thank you, Mister Atkins , 77 when 
the band begins to play. 

I went into a theater as sober as could be. 

They give a drunk civilian room, but 7 adn 7 t none 

for me; 


6 BARft^OK-ROOM BALLADS. 

They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls, 
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll 
shove me in the stalls. 

For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an* 
“ Tommy wait outside ; ” 

But it’s “ Special train for Atkins,” when 
the trooper’s on the tide, 

The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, etc. 


0 makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while 
you sleep 

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re star¬ 
vation cheap; 

An’ hustlin’ drunken sodgers when they’re goin’ 
large a bit 

Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit. 
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, 
an’ “ Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul ? ” 

But it’s “ Thin red line of ’eroes ” when 
the drums begin to roll, 

The drums begin to roll, my boys, etc. 


TOMMY.' 


a 




7 


We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no 
blackguards too, 

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like 


you; 

An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy 
paints, 

Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into 
plaster saints. 

While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, 
an’ “ Tommy fall be’ind ; ” 

But it’s “ Please to walk in front, sir,” 
when there’s trouble in the wind, 
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, etc. 


You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ 
fires, an’ all: 

We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us 
rational. 

Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove 
it to our face 

The Widow’s uniform is not the soldier-man’s 
disgrace. 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, 
an’ “ Chuck him out, the brute ! ” 
But it’s “ Saviour of ’is country ” when 
the guns begin to shoot; 

An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, 
an’ anything you please ; 

An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool—yor 
bet that Tommy sees! 



“ FUZZY-WUZZY.” 9 


“ FUZZY-WUZZY” 

(Soudan Expeditionary Force.) 

We’ve fought with many men acrost the seas, 
An’ some of ’em was brave an’ some was not: 
The Paythan an’ the Zulu an’ Burmese; 

But the Fuzzy was the finest o’ the lot. 

We never got a ha’porth’s change of ’im: 

’E squatted in the scrub an’ ’ocked our ’orses, 
*E cut our sentries up at SuaHm, 

An* ’e played the cat an’ banjo with our forces. 
So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 
’ome in the Sowdan; 

You’re a pore benighted ’eathen but a 
first-class fightin’ man; 

We gives you your eertifikit, an’ if you 
want it signed 

We’ll come an’ ’ave a romp with you 
whenever you’re inclined. 


10 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS, 

We took our chanst among the Kyber ’ills., 

The Boers knocked us silly at a mile^ 

The Burman guv us Irriwaddy chills, 

An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: 

But all we ever got from such as they 

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller ; 

We ’eld our bloomin’ own, the papers say, 

But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us ’oiler. 

Then ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an ? the 
missis and the kid ; 

Our orders was to break you, an’ of course 
we went an’ did. 

We sloshed you with Martinis, an’ it 
wasn’t ’ardly fair; 

But for all the odds agin you, Fuzzy-Wuz, 
you bruk the square. 

E asn’t got no papers of ’is own, 

’E ’asn’t got no medals nor rewards, 

So we must certify the skill Vs shown 
In usin’ of ’is long two-’anded swords : 


‘ FUZZY-WUZZY.” 


11 


When ’e’s ’oppin’ in an’ out among the bush 
With ’is cofiin-’eaded shield an’ shovel-spear, 

A ’appy day with Fuzzy on the rush 
Will last a ’ealthy Tommy for a year. 

So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an’ your 
friends which is no more, 

If we ’adn’t lost some messmates we 
would ’elp you to deplore ; 

But give an’ take’s the gospel, an’ we’ll 
call the bargain fair, 

For if you ’ave lost more than us, you 
crumpled up the square ! 

’E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, 

An’, before we know, ’e’s ’ackin’ at our ’ead; 
E’s all ’ot sand an’ ginger w r hen alive, 

An’ ’e’s generally shammin’ when ’e’s dead. 
’E’s a daisy, ’e’s a ducky, ’e’s a lamb! 

’E’s a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 

’E’s the on’y thing that doesn’t care a damn 
For the Regiment o’ British Infantree. 


fz BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 
’ome in the Sowdan ; 

You’re a pore benighted ’eathen but a 
first-class fightin’ man; 

An’ ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 
’ayrick ’ead of ’air— 

You big black boundin’ beggar—for you 
bruk a British square. 


OONTSl 


13 


OONTS! 

(Northern India Transport Train.) 

W ot makes the soldier’s ’eart to penk, wot makes 
’im to perspire ? 

It isn’t standin’ up to charge or lyin’ down to 
fire; 

But it’s everlastin’ waitin’ on a everlastin’ road 
For the commissariat camel an’ ’is commissariat 
load. 

0 the oont ,* 0 the oont, 0 the commissa¬ 
riat oont l 

With ’is silly neck a-bobbin’ like a basket 
full o’ snakes; 

We packs ’im like a idol, an’ you ought 
to ’ear ’im grunt, 

An’ when we gets ’im loaded up ’is blessed 
girth-rope breaks. 

1 Camel: oo is pronounced like u in “bull,” but by Mr. Atkins 
to rhyme with “ front.” 


14 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

Wot makes the rear-guard swear so ’ard when 
night is drorin’ in, 

An’ every native follower is shiverin’ for ’is 
skin? 

It ain’t the chanst o’ bein’ rushed by Paythans 
frum the ’ills, 

It’s the commissariat camel puttin’ on ’is blessed 
frills! 

0 the oont , 0 the oont , 0 the hairy scary 
oont! 

A trippin’ over tent-ropes when we’ve got 
the night alarm; 

We socks ’im with a stretcher-pole an’ 
’eads ’im off in front, 

An’ when we’ve saved ’is bloomin’ life ’e 
chaws our bloomin’ arm. 

The orse ’e knows above a bit, the bullock’s but 
a fool, 

The elephant’s a gentleman, the baggage-mule’s 
a mule; 


OONTS! 


15 


But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said 
an’ done, 

E’s a devil an’ a ostrich an’ a orphan-child in 
one. 

0 the oont, 0 the oont, 0 the Gawd-for¬ 
saken oont! 

The ’umpy-lumpy ’ummin’-bird a-singin’ 
where ’e lies, 

’E’s blocked the ’ole division from the 
rear-guard to the front, 

An’ when we gets ’im up again—the 
beir^ar <roes an’ dies ! 

OO O 

? E ll gall an’ chafe an’ lame an’ fight; ’e smells 
most awful vile; 

*E’ll lose ’imself forever if you let ’im stray a 
mile; 

*E s game to graze the ’ole day long an’ ’owl the 
’ole night through, 

An’ when ’e comes to greasy ground ’e splits 
’isself in two. 


16 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

0 the oont, 0 the oont, 0 the flopping 
droppin’ oont ! 

When ’is long legs give from under an’ 
’is meltin’ eye is dim, 

The tribes is up be’ind us an’ the tribes 
is out in front, 

It ain’t no jam for Tommy, but it’s kites 
and crows for ’im. 

So when the cruel march is done an’ when the 
roads is blind, 

An’ when we sees the camp in front an’ ’ears the 
shots be’ind, 

0 then we strips ’is saddle off, and all ’is woes 
is past: 

*E thinks on us that used ’im so, an’ gets revenge 
at last. 

0 the oont , 0 the oont , 0 the floatin’, 
bloatin’ oont! 

The late lamented camel in the water-cut 

he lies; 


OONTS! 


1? 


We keeps a mile behind ’im an’ we keeps 
a mile in front. 

But ’e gets into the drinkin’ casks, and 
then o > course we dies. 


18 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


LOOT. 

If you’ve ever stole a pheasant-egg be’ind the 
keeper’s baok, 

If you’ve ever snigged the washin’ frum the line 5 
If you’ve ever crammed a gander in your bloomin’ 
’aversack, 

You will understand this little song o’ mine 
But the service rules are ’ard, an’ frum such we 
are debarred. 

For the same with British morals does not suit 
( Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 

W’y, they call a man a robber if ’e stuffs ’is 
marchin’ clobber 
With the— 

( Chorus) Loo! loo ! Lulu ! lulu ! Loo! loo! Loot 1 
loot ! loot! 

’Ow the loot! 

Bloomin’ loot! 


LOOT. 19 

That’s the thing to make the boys git up 
an’ shoot! 

It’s the some with dogs an’ men, 

If you’d make ’em come again 
Clap ’em forward with a Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! 
Loot! 

(ff) Whoopee! Tear ’im, puppy ! Loo loo ! Lulu! 
Loot! loot! loot I 

If you’ve knocked a nigger edgeways when ’e’s 
thrustin’ for your life, 

You must leave ’im very careful where ’e 
fell; 

An’ may thank your stars an’ gaiters if you didn’t 
feel ’is knife 

That you ain’t told off to bury him as 
well. 

Then the sweatin’ Tommies wonder as they spade 
the beggars under 

Why lootin’ should be entered as a 


crime; 


20 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

So if my song you’ll ’ear, I will learn you plain 
an’ clear 

’Ow to pay yourself for fightin’ overtime 
{Chorus,) With the loot, etc. 


Now remember when you’re ’aching round a gilded 
Burma god 

That ’is eyes is very often precious stones; 

An’ if you treat a nigger to a dose o’ cleanin’- 
rod 

’E’s like to show you everything ’e owns. 
When ’e won’t prodooce no more, pour some water 
on the floor 

Where you ’ear it answer ’ollow to the boot 
( Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 

When the ground begins to sink, shove your 
baynick down the chink, 

An’ you’re sure to touch the— 

{Chorus,) Loo ! loo! Lulu ! Loot ! loot ! 
loot! 

’Ow the loot, etc. 


LOOT. 


21 


When from ’ouse to ’ouse you’re ’untin’ you must 
always work in pairs— 

It ’alves the gain, but safer you will find— 
For a single man gits bottled on them twisty- 
wisty stairs, 

An’ a woman comes and clobs ’im from be’ind. 

. When you’ve turned ’em inside out, an’ it seems 
beyond a doubt 

As if there weren’t enough to dust a flute 
( Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 

Before you sling your ’ook, at the ’ouse-tops 
take a look, 

For it’s underneath the tiles they ’ide the loot. 
(Chorus .) Ow the loot, efcc. 

You can mostly square a Sergint an’ a Quarter¬ 
master too, 

If you only take the proper way to go; 

I could never keep my pickin’s, but I’ve learned 
you all I knew— 

An’ don’t you never say I told you so. 


90 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


An’ now I’ll bid good-by, for I'm gettin’ rathef 

dry, 

An’ I see another tunin’ hp to toot ( Cornet: 
Toot! toot!)— 

So ’ere’s good-luck to those that wears the Widow’s 
clo’es, 

An’ the Devil send ’em all they want o r loot! 
(Chorus.) Yes, the loot, 

Bloomin’ loot. 

In the tunic an’ the mess-tin an’ the boot! 

It’s the same with dogs an’ men, 

If you’d make ’em come again 
Whoop ’em forward with the Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! 
Loot 1 loot! loot 1 

Heeya ! Sick ’im, puppy 1 Loo 1 loo I Lulu! 
Loot l loot 1 loot J 


SOLDIER, SOLDIER. 


23 


SOLDIER, SOLDIER. 

u Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Why don’t you march with my true love ? % 

“ We’re fresh from off the ship, an’ Vs maybe 
give the slip, 

An’ you’d best go look for a new love.” 

New love! True love! 

Best go look for a new love , 

The dead they cannot rise , an ’ you'd better 
dry your eyes , 

An! you'd best go look for a new love . 

u Soldier, soldier come from the wars. 

What did you see o’ my true love ? 99 
u I see ’im serve the Queen in a suit o’ rifle green. 
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.” 

“ Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Did ye see no more o’ my true love ? n 


24 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

“ I see ’im runnin’ by when the shots begun to 
fly— 

But you’d best go look for a new love.” 

“ Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Did aught take ’arm to my true love ? ” 

“ I couldn’t see the fight, for the smoke it lay 
so white— 

An’ you’d best go look for a new love.” 

u Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

I’ll up an’ tend to my true love ! ” 

" ’E’s lying on the dead with a bullet through 
’is ’ead, 

An’ you’d best go look for a new love.” 

“ Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

I’ll lie down an’ die with my true love! ” 

u The pit we dug’ll ’ide ’im an’ twenty men 
beside ’im— 

An* you’d best go look for a new love.” 


SOLDIER, SOLDIER. 


25 


u Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

Do you bring no sign from my true love ? 99 
“ I bring a lock of ’air that ’e alius used to 
wear, 

An’ you’d best go look for a new love/* 

“ Soldier, soldier come from the wars, 

0 then I know it’s true I’ve lost my true love ! * 
“ An’ I tell you truth again—when you’ve lost 
the feel o’ pain 

You’d best take me for your true love.” 

True love ! New love ! 

Best take 9 im for a new love. 

The dead they cannot rise , an 9 you 9 d 
better dry your eyes , 

An 9 you 9 d best take 9 im for your true 


26 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS* 


THE SONS OF THE WIDOW. 

'Aye you ’eard o’ the Widow at Windsor 
With a hairy gold crown on ’er ’ead ? 

She ’as ships on the foam—she ’as millions at 
’ome, 

An’ she pays us poor beggars in red. 

(Ow, poor beggars in red !) 

There’s ’er nick on the cavalry ’orses 

There’s ’er mark on the medical stores— 

An’ ’er troopers you’ll find with a fair wina be’ind 
That takes us to various wars. 

v Poor beggars !—barbarious wars !) 

Then ’ere’s to the Widow at Windsor. 

An’ ’ere’s to the stores an’ the guns, 
The men ’an the ’orses what makes up the 
forces 

O’ Missis Victorier's sons. 

(Poor beggars !—“Victorier’s sons!) 



THE SONS OF THE WIDOW. 27 

Walk wide ’o the Widow at Windsor, 

For ’alf o' creation she owns: 

We ’ave bought ’er the same with the sword an’ 
the flame, 

An’ we’ve salted it down with our bones. 

(Poor beggars !—it’s blue with our bones lj| 
Ilands off o’ the sons of the Widow, 

Hands off o’ the goods in ’er shop, 

For the Kings must come down an’ the Emperor 
frown 

When the Widow at Windsor says “ Stop ! ” 
(Poor beggars !—we’re sent to say “ Stop ! ”) 
Then ’ere’s to the Lodge o’ the Widow, 
From the Pole to the Tropics it runs— 
To the Lodge that we tile with the rank 
an’ the file, 

An* open in forms with the guns. 

(Poor beggars !—it’s always them guns!) 

We ’ave ’eard ’o the Widow at Windsor 
It’s safest to let' er alone • 


28 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


For ’er sentries we stand by the sea an’ the land 
Wherever the bugles are blown. 

(Poor beggars !—an’ don’t we get blown !) 
Take ’old o’ the wings o’ the morning 

An’ flop round the earth till you’re dead; 

But you won’t get away from the tune that they 
play 

To the bloomin’ old rag over’ead. 

(Poor beggars !—it’s ’ot over’ead !) 

Then ’ere’s to the sons o’ the Widow, 
Wherever, ’owever they roam. 

’Ere’s all they desire, an’ if they re* 
quire 

A speedy return to their ’ome. 

(Poor beggars !—they’ll never see ’ome !) 


TBOOPIN'. 


29 


TROOPIN’. 

(Our Army in the East.) 

Troopin’, troopin’, troopin’ to the sea: 

’Ere’s September come again—the six-year 
men are free. 

0 leave the dead he’ind us, for they cannot come 
away 

To where the ship’s a-coalin’ up that takes us 
’ome to-day. 

We’re goin’ ’ome, we’re goin’ ’ome, 

Our ship is at the shore. 

An’ you must pack your ’aversack, 

For we won’t come back no more. 

Ho, don’t you grieve for me, 

My lovely Mary-Anne, 

For I’ll marry you yit on a fourp’ny bit 
As a time-expired man. 


30 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

The Malabar ’ in ’arbor with the Jumner at ’er 


tail, 

An’ the time-expired’s waitin’ of ’is orders for to 
sail. 

0 the weary waitin’ when on Khyber ’ills we 

lay? 

But the time-expired’s waitin’ of ’is orders ’ome 
to-day. 

rhey’ll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold 
an’ wet an’ rain, 

All wearin’ Injian cotton kit, but we will not 
complain ; 

They’ll kill us of pneumonia—for that’s their 
little way— 

But damn the chills and fever, men, we’re goin 
’ome to-day 1 

Troopin’, troopin’—winter’s round again! 

See the new draf’s pourin’ in for the old cam¬ 
paign ; 


TROOPIN . 31 

Ho, you poor recruities, but you’ve got to earn 
your pay— 

What’s the last from Lunnon, lads? We’re 
goin’ there to-day. 

Troopin’, troopin’, give another cheer— 

’Ere’s to English women an’ a quart of English 
beer; 

The Colonel an’ the regiment an’ all who’ve got 
to stay, 

Gawd’s mercy strike ’em gentle—Whoop I we’re 
goin’ ’ome to-day. 

We’re goin ’ome, we’re goin , ’ome, 

Our ship is at the shore, 

An’ you must pack your ’aversack, 

For we won’t come back no mor*. 

Ho, don’t you grieve for me. 

My lovely Mary-Anne, 

For I’ll marry you yit on a fourp’ny bit 
As a time-expired man. 


32 


BARRACK-BOOM BALLADS. 


GUNGA DIN. 


The bhistif or water-carrier, attached to regiments in India, ta 
often one of the most devoted of the Queen’s servants. He is alsc 
appreciated by the men. 

[THIS BALLAD IS EXTENSIVELY PLAGIARIZED.] 

You may talk o’ gin an’ beer 
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere, 

An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an* Aldershot 
it; 

But if it comes to slaughter 
You will do your work on water, 

An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s 
got it. 

Now in Injia’s sunny clime, 

Where I used to spend my time 
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen, 

Of all them black-faced crew 

The finest man I knew 

Was our regimental bhisti , Gunga Din. 


GUNGA DIN. 


33 


He was - c Din ! Din ! Din i 
You limping lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga 
Din! 

Hi ! slippy hitherao ! 

Water, get it! Panee lao ! 1 

You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din! w 

The uniform ’e wore 
Was nothin’ much before, 

An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that Wind* 

For a twisty piece o’ rag 
An’ a goatskin water-bag 
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. 

When the sweatin’ troop-train lay 
In a sidin’ through the day, 

Where the ’eat would make your bloomin' eye 
brows crawl, 

We shouted “ Harry By ! ” 2 
Till our throats were bricky-dry, 

Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us alL 

1 Bring water swiftly. 

• Mr. Atkins’s equivalent for “ O Brother !” 

a 


34 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

It was “ Din ! Din ! Din! 

You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you 
been ? 

You put some juldee in it, 

Or I’ll marrow you this minute 1 
If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga 

Dint” 

*E would dot an* carry one 

Till the longest day was dona 

An’ ’e didn’t seem to know thu use o’ fear. 

If we charged or broke or cut 
You could bet your bloomin’ nut, 

’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear. 

With ’is mussick on ’is back, 

'E would skip with our attack, 

An’ watch us till the bugles made “ Retire.” 

An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide 

’E was white, clear white, inside 

When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire 


* Hit you. 


GUNGA DIN. 


35 


It was “ Din ! Din ! Din!” 

With the bullets kickin’ (lust-spots on the 
green. 

When the cartridges ran out, 

You could ’ear the front-files shout; 

“ Hi ! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din 1 99 


I sha’n’t forgit the night 
When I dropped be’ind the fight 
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ 
been. 

I was chokin’ mad with thirst, 

An’ the man that spied me first 

Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga 

Din. 

’E lifted up my ’ead, 

An’ ’e plunged me where I bled, 

An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water—green* 

It was crawlin’ and it stunk, 

But of all the drinks I’ve drunk, 

I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. 


36 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS, 


It was u Din ! Din ! Din ! 

’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through 'is 
spleen; 

*E’s chawin’ up the ground an’ ’e’ kick 
in’ all around: 

For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga 
Din! ” 

*E carried me away 
To where a dooli lay, 

An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean. 

’E put me safe inside, 

An’ just before ’e died : 

“ I ’ope you liked your drink,” sez Gunga 
Din. 

So I’ll meet ’im later on 
In the place where ’e is gone— 

Where it’s always double drill and no canteen; 
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals 
Givin’ drink to pore damned souls, 

An’ I’ll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din! 


GUNGA DIN, 


37 


Din! Din! Din! 

You Lazar ^Han-leather Gunga Din ! 
Tho’ I’ve belted you an’ flayed you, 

By the livin ^-awd that made you, 
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga 

Dial 


S3 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


MANDALAY. 

By fthe old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward 
to the sea, 

There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, an’ I know she 
thinks o’ me; 

For the wind is in the palm-trees, an’ the temple- 
bells they say: 

u Come you back, you British soldier; come you 
back to Mandalay 1 ” 

Come you back to Mandalay, 

Where the old Flotilla lay : 

Can’t you ’ear their paddles chunkin’ from 
Rangoon to Mandalay ? 

O the road to Mandalay, 

Where the flyin’-fishes play, 

An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer 
China ’crost the Bay ! 



MANDALAY, 


39 


*Er pettieut was yaller an’ ’er little cap was 
green, 

An’ ’er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes’ the same as 
Theebaw’s Queen, 

An’ I seed her fust a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white 
cheroot, 

An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ’eathen idol’s 
foot: 

Bloomin’ idol made o’ mud— 

Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd— 
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I 
kissed ’er where she stud ! 

On the road to Mandalay— 

When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the siin 
was droppin’ slow, 

She’d git ’er little banjo an’ she’d sing u Kulla 
Mo!" 

With ’er arm upon my shoulder an* her cheek 
agin my cheek 

We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis 

pilin’ teak. 


40 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


Elephints a-pilin’ teak 
In the sludgy, squdgy creek, 

Where the silence ’ung that ’eavy you was 
’arf afraid to speak! 

On the road to Mandalay—* 

But that’s all shove be’ind me—long ago an* fur 
away, 

An’ there ain’t no ’buses runnin’ from the Benk 
to Mandalay; 

An’ I’m learnin’ ’ere in London what the ten- 
year sodger tells: 

“ If you’ve ’eard the East a-callin’, why, you won’t 
’eed nothin’ else.” 

No! you won’t ’eed nothin’ else 
But them spicy garlic smells 
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an* 
the tinkly temple bells l 
On the road to Mandalay— 

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gutty pavin' 
stones, 


MANDALAY. 41 

An* the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever 
in my bones ; 

Tho’ I walks with fifty ’ousemaids outer Chelsea 
to the Strand, 

An they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they 
understand ? 

Beefy face an' grubby ’and— 

Law ! wot do they understand ? 

I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, 
greener land! 

On the road to Mandalay— 

Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best 
is like the worst, 

Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments, an’ a 
man can raise a thirst; 

For the temple-bells are callin’, an' it’s there that 
I would be— 

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ lazy at the 
sea— 

On the road to Mandalay, 

Where the old Flotilla lay, 


42 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

With our sick beneath the awnings when 
we went to Mandalay I 
Oh, the road to Mandalay, 

Where the flyin’-fishes play, 

An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer 
China ’crost the Bay I 


THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER. 


43 


THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER. 

When the ’arf-made reeruity goes out to the 
East 

’E aets like a babe an’ ’e drinks like a beast, 

An’ ’e wonders because ’e is frequent de¬ 
ceased 

Ere Vs fit for to serve as a soldier. 

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
So-oldier hof the Queen! 

Now all you recruities what’s drafted to-day, 

You shut up your rag-box an’ ’ark to my 
lay, 

An’ I’ll sing you a soldier as far as I may: 

A soldier what’s fit for a soldier. 

Fit, fit, fit for a soldier— 


44 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


First, mind you steer clear o’ the grog-sellers’ huts, 
For they sell you Fixed Bay’nets that rots out 
our guts— 

Ay, drink that ’ud eat the live steel from your 
butts— 

An’ it’s bad for the young British soldier. 
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier— 

When the cholera comes—as it will past a doubt— 
Keep out of the wet and don’t go on the shout, 
For the sickness comes in as the liquor dies 
out, 

An’ it crumples the young British soldier. 
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier— 


But the worst o’ your foes is the sun over’ead 
You must wear your ’elmet for all that is said. 

If ’e finds you uncovered Vll knock you down 
dead, 

An’ you’ll die like a fool of a soldier. 
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier— 


THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER. 45 

If you’re cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, 
Don’t grouse like a woman nor crack on nor 
blind; 

Be handy and civil, and then you will find 

As it’s beer for the young British soldier. 
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier— 

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old— 
A troop-sergeant’s widow’s the nicest I’m told— 
For beauty won’t help if your vittles is cold, 

An’ love ain’t enough for a soldier, 

’Nougli, ’nough, ’nough for a soldier— 1 

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, 
be loath 

To shoot when you catch ’em—you’ll swing, on 
my oath !— 

Make ’im take ’er and keep ’er; that’s hell for 
them both, 

An’ you’re quit o’ the curse of a soldier. 
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier— 


46 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

When first under fire an you’re wishful to 
duck, 

Don’t look or take ’eed at the man that is 
struck, 

Be thankful you’re livin’ an’ trust to your luck, 
An’ march to your front like a soldier. 
Front, front, front like a soldier. 

When ’arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, 
Don’t call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitcli; 
She’s human as you are—you treat her as sicli, 
An’ she’ll fight for the young British sol¬ 
dier. 

Fight, fight, fight for the soldier— 

When shakin’ their bustles like ladies so fine 
The guns o’ the enemy wheel into line ; 

Shoot low at the limbers and don’t mind the 
shine, 

For noise never startles the soldier. 

Start-, start-, startles the soldier— 


THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER. ’ 47 

I£ your officer’s dead and the sergeants look 
white, 

Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight; 

So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, 

An’ wait for supports like a soldier. 

Wait, wait, wait like a soldier— 

When you’re wounded an’ left on Afghanistan’s 
plains, 

An’ the women come out to cut up your re¬ 
mains, 

Just roll to your rifle an’ blow out your brains, 
An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier: 

Go, go, go like a soldier, 

Go, go, go like a soldier, 

Go, go, go like a soldier, 

So-oldier hof the Queen. 


48 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


SCREW-GUNS. 

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the 
mornin’-cool, 

I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old 
brown mule, 

With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a 
beofjrar forgets 

oo o 

It’s only the pick o’ the Army that handles the 
dear little pets—Tss ! Tss ! 

For you all love the screw-guns—the 
screw-guns they all love you. 

So when we call round with a few guns, o’ 
course you will know what to do— 
hoo ! hoo ! 

Just send in your chief an’ surrender— 
it’s worse if you fights or you runs: 

You can go where you please, you can skid 
up the trees, but you don’t get away 
from the guns. 


SCREW-GUNS. 49 

They send us along where the roads are, but 
mostly we goes where they ain’t; 

We’d climb up the side of a sign-board an r trust 
to the stick o’ the paint; 

We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Lushai, we’ve give 
the Afreedeeman fits, 

For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we 
guns that are built in two bits—Tss! 

Tss ! 

For you all love the screw-guns— 


If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im ’an 
teaches ’im ’ow to be’ave; 

If a beggar can’t march, why, we. kills ’im ’an 
rattles ’im into ’is grave. 

You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring 
without snatchin’ or fuss. 

D’ you say that you sweat with the field-guns ? 
By God, you must lather with us—Tss! 

Tss! 

For you all love the screw-gunsr— 

4 


50 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

The eagles is screamin’ around us, the river's 
amoanin’ below, 

We're clear o’ the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're 
out on the rocks an’ the snow, 

An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what 
carries away to the plains 
The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules— 
the jinglety-jink o' the chains — Tss» 
Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns—- 


There’s a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin' an 
a wheel on the edge o’ the Pit, 

An' a drop into nothin’ beneath us as straight as 
a beggar can spit; 

With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt¬ 
sleeves an' the sun off the snow in your 
face, 

An' 'arf o’ the men on the drag-ropes to hold the 
old gun in 'er place—Tss! Tss ! 

For you all love the screw-guns- 



SCREW-GUNS. 51 

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the 
mornin’-cool, 

l climb in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old 
brown mule. 

The monkey can say what our road was—the 
wild-goat ’e knows where we passed. 

Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin’s! Out 
drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast!— 

Tss! Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns—the 
screw-guns they all love you ! 

So when we take tea with a few guns, o’ 
course you will know what to do— 
hoo 1 hoo! 

Just send in your Chief and surrender— 
it’s worse if you fights or you runs 2 

You may hide in the caves, they’ll be 
only your graves, but you don’t get 
away from the guns! 


52 


BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 


BELTS. 

There was a row in Silver Street that’s near to 
Dublin Quay, 

Between an Irish regiment an’ English cavalree ; 
It started at Revelly an’ it lasted on till dark; 
The first man dropped at Harrison’s, the last 
forninst the Park. 

For it was “ Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s 
one for you ! ” 

An’ it was “ Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s 
done for you ! ” 

0 buckle an’ tongue 

Was the song that we sung 

From Harrison’s on to the Park! 

There was a row in Silver Street—the regiments 
was out, 

They called us “ Delhi Rebels,” an’ we answered 
“ Threes about! ” 



BELTS. 53 

That drew them like a hornet’s nest—we met 
them good an’ laige, 

The English at the double an’ the Irish at the 
charge. 

Then it was : Belts— 


There was a row in Silver Street—an’ I was in 
it too; 

We passed the time o’ day, an’ then the belts 
went whirraru ; 

L misremember what occurred, but subsecpiint the 
storm 

\ Freeman's Journal Supplement was all my 

uniform. 

0 it was: Belts— 


There was a row in Silver Street*"—they sent the 
Polis there, 

The English were too drunk to know, the Irish 
didn’t care; 


54 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. 

But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous 
rose, 

Till half o’ them was Liffey mud an 5 half was 
tatthered clo’es. 

For it was: Belts— 


There was a row in Silver Street—it might ha’ 
raged till now, 

But some one drew his side-arm clear, an’ nobody 
knew how; 

’Twas Hogan took the point an’ dropped; we 
saw the red blood run: 

An’ so we all was murderers that started out in 

fun. 

While it was: Belts— 


There was a row in Silver Street—but that took 
off the shine, 

Wid each man whishperin’ to his next: “ ’Twas 
never work o’ mine ! ” 


BELTS. 55 

We went away like beaten dogs, an’ down the 
street we bore him, 

The poor dumb corpse that couldn’t see the 
bhoys were sorry for him. 

When it was : Belts— 


There was a row in Silver Street—it isn’t over 

yet, 

For half of us are under guard wid punishmints 
to get; 

’Tis all a mericle to me as in the Clink I lie; 

There was a row in Silver Street—begod, I won¬ 
der why ! 

But it was “ Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s 
one for you ! ” 

An’ it was “ Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s 
done for you ! ” 

0 buckle an’ tongue 

Was the song that w(f sung 

From Harrison’s down to the Park J 



















































































DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 




** 


GENERAL SUMMARY. 


We are very slightly changed 
From the semi-apes who ranged 
India’s prehistoric clay; 

Whoso drew the longest bow, 

Ran his brother down, you know, 

As we run men down to-day. 

“ Dowb,” the first of all his race, 

Met the Mammoth face to face 
On the lake or in the cave, 

Stole the steadiest canoe, 

Ate the quarry others slew, 

Died—and took the finest grave. 

When they scratched the reindeer-bone, 
Some one made the sketch his own, 
Filched it from the artist—then, 


59 


6C DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

Even in those early days, 

Won a simple Viceroy’s praise 
Through the toil of other men. 

Ere they hewed the Sphinx’s visage 
Favoritism governed kissage, 

Even as it does in this age. 

Who shall doubt the secret hid 
Under Cheops’ pyramid 
Was that the contractor did 
Cheops out of several millions ? 

Or that Joseph’s sudden rise 
To Comptroller of Supplies 
Was a fraud of monstrous size 

On King Pharaoh’s swart Civilians? 

Thus, the artless songs I sing 
Do not deal with anything 
New or never said before. 

As it was in the beginning, 

Is to-day official sinning, 

And shall be for evermore. 



ARMY HEADQUARTERS. 


61 


ARMY HEADQUARTERS. 

Old is the song that I sing— 

Old as my unpaid bills— 

Old as the chicken that Jcitmutgars bring 
Men at dak-bungalows—old as the Hills. 

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “ Operatic Own ” 

Was dowered with a tenor voice of swy?er-Santley 
tone. 

His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle 
queer; 

He had no seat worth mentioning, hut oh ! he 
had an ear. 

He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times 
a day, 

He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way, 

His method of saluting was the joy of aU 
beholders, 

But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his 
shoulders. 


62 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

He took two months to Simla when the year was 
at the spring, 

And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. 

He warbled like a bulbul , but particularly at 

Cornelia Agrippina who was musical and fat. 

She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, 
controlled a Dept., 

Where Cornelia Agrippina’s human singing-birds 
were kept 

From April to October on a plump retaining fee, 

Supplied, of course, per mensem , by the Indian 
Treasury. 

Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used 
to play; 

He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was 
false as they : 

So when the winds of April turned the budding 
roses brown, 

Cornelia told her husband :—“ Tom, you mustn’t 
send him down.” 


ARMY HEADQUARTERS. 63 

They haled him from his regiment which didn’t 
much regret him; 

They found for him an office-stool, and on that 
stool they set him, 

To play with maps and catalogues three idle 
hours a day, 

And draw his plump retaining fee—which means 
his double pay. 

Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups are 
brought, 

Ahasuerus waileth o’er the grand pianoforte; 

And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath 
waxen great, 

And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the State. 


64 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN 
INK. 

This ditty is a string of lies. 

But—how the deuce did Gubbins rise ? 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 

Stands at the top of the tree; 

And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led 
To the hoisting of Potiphar G. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 

Is seven years junioi to Me; 

Each bridge that he makes he either buckles or 
breaks, 

And his work is as rough as he. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 

Is coarse as a chimpanzee ; 

And I can’t understand why you gave him your 
hand, 

Lovely Mehitabel Lee. 




STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK. 65 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 

Is dear to the Powers that Be; 

For They bow and They smile in an affable style 
Which is seldom accorded to Me. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 

Is certain as certain can be 
Of a highly-paid post which is claimed by a host 
Of seniors—including Me. 

Careless and lazy is he, 

Greatly inferior to Me. 

What is the spell that you manage so well, 
Commonplace Potiphar G. ? 

Lovely Mehitabel Lee, 

Let me inquire of thee, 

Should I have riz to what Potiphar is, 

Hadst thou been mated to Me ? 


5 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


tiG 


A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE. 

This is the reason why Rustum Beg, 

Rajah of Kolazai, 

Drinketli the “ simpkin ” and brandy peg, 
Maketh the money to fly, 

Vexeth a Government, tender and kind, 
Also—but this is a detail—blind. 


Rustum Beg of Kolazai—slightly backward 
native state— 

Lusted for a C. S. I., — so beg^n to sanitate. 

Built a Jail and Hospital—nearly built a City 
drain— 

Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler 
was insane. 


Strange departures made he then—yea, Depart¬ 
ments stranger still, 

Half a dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with 

a will* 


A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE. 67 

Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a 
future fine 

For the state of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line. 

Rajah Rustum held his peace ; lowered octroi 
dues a half; 

Organized a State Police; purified the Civil Staff j 

Settled cess and tax afresh in a very liberal way; 

Cut temptations of the flesh—also cut the 
Bukhshi’s pay; 

Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury, 

By a Hookum hinting at supervision of dasturi ; 

Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside- 
down ; 

When the end of May was nigh, waited his 
achievement crown. 

Then the Birthday Honors came. Sad to state 
and sad to see, 

Stood against the Rajah’s name nothing 
than C. L E.! 


more 


68 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


Things were lively for a week in the State of 
Kolazai. 

Even now the people speak of that time regret¬ 
fully. 

How he disendowed the Jail—stopped at once 
the City drain; 

Turned to beauty fair and frail—got his senses 
back again; 

Double taxes, cesses, all; cleared away each new- 
built thana ; 

Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb 

Zenana ; 

Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and 
honors manifold; 

Clad himself in Eastern garb—squeezed his peo¬ 
ple as of old. 

Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum 
Beg 

Play to catch the Viceroy’s eye. He prefers the 
u simpkin ” peg. 


THE STORY OF URIAH. 


69 


THE STORY OF URIAH. 

“ Now there were two men in one city ; the one rich and 
the other poor.” 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta 
Because they told him to. 

He left his wife at Simla 

On three-fourths his monthly screw s 

Jack Barrett died at Quetta 

Ere the next month’s pay he drew. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta. 

He didn’t understand 

The reason of his transfer 

From the pleasant mountain-land ? 

The season was September, 

And it killed him out of hand. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta, 

And there gave up the ghost, 


70 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


Attempting two men’s duty 
In that very healthy post; 

And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him 
Five lively months at most. 

Jack Barrett’s bones at Quetta 
Enjoy profound repose; 

But I shouldn’t be astonished 
If now his spirit knows 
The reason of his transfer 
From the Himalayan snows. 

And, when the Last Great Bugle Call 
Adown the Hurnai throbs, 

When the last grim joke is entered 
In the big black Book of Jobs, 
And Quetta graveyards give again 
Their victims to the air, 

I shouldn’t like to be the man 
Who sent Jack Barrett there. 



THE POST THAT FITTED, 


71 


THE POST THAT FITTED. 

Though tangled and twisted the course of true love, 

This ditty explains 

No tangle’s so tangled it cannot improve 
If the Lovaa* has brains. 

Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was 
engaged to marry 

An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called 
“ my little Carrie.” 

Sleary’s pay was very modest; Sleary was the 
other way. 

Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight paltry 
dibs a day ? 

Long he pondered o’er the question in his scantly 
furnished quarters— 

Then proposed to Minnie Boffkin, eldest of Judge 
BofEkin’s daughters. 


72 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a 
catch, 

But the B off kins knew that Minnie mightn’t make 
another match. 

So they recognized the business, and, to feed and 
clothe the bride, 

Got him made a Something Something somewhere 
on the Bombay side. 

Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him 
to marry— 

As the artless Sleary put it:—“Just the thing 
for me and Carrie.” 

Did he, therefore, jilt Miss B off kin—impulse of 
a baser mind ? 

No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind. 

(Of his modus operandi only this much I could 
gather:— 

“ Pears’ shaving sticks will give you little taste 
and lots of lather.”) 


THE POST THAT FITTED. 73 

Frequently in public places his affliction used to 
smite 

Sleary with distressing vigor—always in the 
B off kins’ sight. 

Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned 
his ring, 

Told him his “ unhappy weakness ” stopped all 
thought of marrying. 

Sleary bore the information with a chastened 

holy joy — 

Epileptic fits don’t matter in Political employ,— 

Wired three short words to Carrie—took his 
ticket, packed his kit— 

Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, 
long, lingering fit. 

Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read—and laughed 
until she wept— 

Mrs. B off kin’s warning letter on the “ wretched 
epilept.” 


74 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful ] 

B off kin sits 

Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sieary s 
fits. 


4 



PUBLIC WASTE. 


75 


PUBLIC WASTE. 

Walpole talks of “ a man and his price.’* 

List to a ditty queer— 

The sale of a Deputy-Acting-Vice- 
Resident-Engineer, 

Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide, 

By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side. 


By the laws of the Family Circle ’tis written in 
letters of brass 

That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage 
the Railways of State, 

Because of the gold on his breeks, and the sub¬ 
jects wherein he must pass; 

Because in all matters that deal not with Rail¬ 
ways his knowledge is great. 

Now Exeter Battleby Tring had labored from 
boyhood to eld 

On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke 
of the North and South ; 


76 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

Many Lines had he built and surveyed—impor¬ 
tant the posts which he held; 

And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb 
when he opened his mouth. 

Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies 
jettier still— 

Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study 
and knowledge; 

Never clanked sword by his side—Vauban he 
knew not, nor drill—• 

Nor was his name on the list of the men who-had 
passed through the “ College.” 

Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their 
little tin souls, 

Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no 
spurs at his heels, 

Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the 
Government rolls 

For the billet of “ Railway Instructor to Little 
Tin Gods on Wheels ” 



PUBLIC WASTE. 77 

infers not seldom they wrote him, “ having the 
honor to state,” 

Ifc would be better for all men if he were laid on 
the shelf: 

Much would accrue to his bank-book, and he 
consented to wait 

Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for 
himself. 

“ Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of 
the Fifty and Five, 

Even to Ninety and Nine”—these were the 
terms of the pact 2 

Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may Their 
Highnesses thrive !) 

Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their 
Circle intact; 

Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who man¬ 
aged the Bhamo State Line, 

(The which was one mile and one furlong— a 
guaranteed twenty-inch gauge). 


78 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to 
resign, 

And died, on four thousand a month, in the 
ninetieth year of his age. 


DELILAH* 


79 


DELILAH. 

We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done, 

Of Delilah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne. 

Delilah Aberyswith was a lady—not too 
young— 

With a perfect taste in dresses, and a badly 
bitted tongue, 

With a thirst for information, and a greater 
thirst for praise, 

And a little house in Simla, in the Prehistoric 
Days. 

By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in 
power, 

Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the 
hour; 

And many little secrets, of a half-official hind, 

Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them 
all in mind. 


80 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

She patronized extensively a man, Ulysses 
Gunne, 

Whose mode of earning money was a low and 
shameful one. 

He wrote for divers papers, which, as everybody 
knows, 

Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off 
the crows. 

He praised her “queenly beauty” first; and, 
later on, he hinted 

At the “ vastness of her intellect 99 with compli¬ 
ment unstinted. 

He went with her a-riding, and his love for her 
was such 

That he lent her all his horses, and—she galled 
them very much. 

One day, They brewed a secret of a fine financial 
sort; 

It related to Appointments, to a Man and a 
Report. 


DELILAH. 61 

*Twas almost worth the keeping (only seven peo 
pie knew it), 

And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and 
patiently ensue it. 

It was a Viceroy’s Secret, but—perhaps the wine 
was red— 

Perhaps an Aged Councilor had lost his aged 
head— 

Perhaps Delilah’s eyes were bright—Delilah’s 
whispers sweet— 

The Aged Member told her what ’twere treason 
to repeat. 

Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love 
and flowers ; 

Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several 
hours; 

Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him 
dance— 

Uly sses let the waltzes go, and waited for hia 

chance. 

6 


82 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

The summer sun was setting, anti the summer air 
was still, 

The couple went a-walking in the shade of Sum¬ 
mer Hill, 

The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis-green and 
gold, 

Ulysses pleaded softly, and . . . that bad Delilah 
toldl 

Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all 
important news; 

Next week, the Aged Councilor was shaking in 
his shoes; 

Next month, I met Delilah, and she did not show 
the least 

Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a 
“ beast.” 

• • • » • 

We have another Viceroy now, those days are 
dead and done, 

Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulvsses 

Gunne 1 


WHAT HAPPENED. 


83 


WHAT HAPPENED. 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow 
Bazar, 

Owner of a native press, “ Barrishter-at-Lar,” 

Waited on the Government with a claim to wear 

Sabeis by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. 

Then the Indian Government winked a wicked 
wink, 

Said to Chunder Mookerjee: “ Stick to pen and 
ink, 

They are safer implements; but, if you insist, 

We will let you carry arms wheresoe’er you 
list.” 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith 
and 

Bought the tuber of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, 
and Bland, 


84 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a. town-made 
sword, 

Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went 
abroad. 

But the Indian Government, always keen to 
please, 

Also gave permission to horrid men like these— 

Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or 
steal, 

Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil. 

Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jo war Singh the 
Sikh, 

Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq— 

He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo 

Took advantage of the act—took a Snider too. 

They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew 
them not, 

They procured their swords and guns chiefly 
the spot, 


on 


WHAT HAPPENED. 


85 


And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, 

Made them slow to disregard one another’s rights. 

With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts 

All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts 

Said : “ The good old days are back—let us go 
to war ! ” 

Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road, into 
Bow Bazar. 

Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound 
flail, 

Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk 
jezail, 

Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with 
glee 

As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. 

Jowar Singh the Sikh procured saber, quoit, and 
mace, 

Abdul Huq, Wahabi, took the dagger from its 
place, 


86 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned 
and jabbered 

Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared the dah-blade from 
the scabbard. 

What became of Mookerjee ? Soothly, who can 
say? 

Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, 

Jowar Singh is reticent, Cliimbu Singh is mute, 

But the belts of them all simply bulge with loot. 

What became of Ballard’s guns ? Afghans black 
and grubby 

Sell them for their silver weight to the men of 
Pubbi; 

And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made 
sword are 

Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. 

What became of Mookerjee ? Ask Mahommed 
Yar 

Prodding Siva’s sacred bull down the Bow Bazar. 


WHAT HAPPENED. 87 

Speak to placid Nubbee Baksli—question land 
and sea— 

Ask the Indian Congress men—only don’t ask 
me! 




> 


88 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


PINK DOMINOES. 

“They are fools who kiss and tell* 

Wisely has the poet sung. 

Man may hold all sorts of posts 
If he’ll only hold his tongue. 

Jenny and Me were engaged, you see, 

On the eve of the Fancy Ball; 

So a kiss or two was nothing to you 
Or any one else at all. 

Jenny would go in a domino— 

Pretty and pink but warm; 

While I attended, clad in a splendid 
Austrian uniform. 

Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged 
Early that afternoon, 

At Number Four to waltz no more, 

But to sit in the dusk and spoon. 


PINK DOMINOES. 


89 


(I wish you to see that Jenny and Me 
Had barely exchanged our troth; 

So a kiss or two was strictly due 
By, from, and between us both.) 

When Three was over, an eager lover, 

I fled to the gloom outside; 

And a Domino came out also 

Whom I took for my future bride. 

That is to say, in a casual way, 

I slipped my arm around her; 

With a kiss or two (which is nothing to you), 
And ready to kiss I found her. 

She turned her head, and the name she said 
Was certainly not my own; 

But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek 
She fled and left me alone. 

Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame 
She’d doffed her domino; 


90 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

And I had embraced an alien waist— 

But I did not tell her so. 

Next morn I knew that there were two 
Dominoes pink, and one 
Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian Vouse, 

Our big political gun. 

Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, 

And her eye was a blue cerulean; 

And the name she said when she turned her 
head 

Was not in the least like “ Julian.” 

Now wasn’t it nice, when want of pice 
Forbade us twain to marry, 

That old Sir J., in the kindest way* 

Made me his Seer starry f 


THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE. 


91 


THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE. 

Shun—shun the Bowl 1 That fatal, facile drink 
Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in% 
Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink 
Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in'*. 
There may be silver in the “ blue-black ”—all 
I know of is the iron and the gall. 

Boanerges Blitzen, servant o£ the Queen, 

Is a dismal failure—is a Might-have-been. 

In a luckless moment he discovered men 
Rise to high position through a ready pen. 

Boanerges Blitzen argued, therefore: tc I 
With the selfsame weapon can attain as high.** 
Only he did not possess, when he made the trial. 
Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L-1. 

(Men who spar with Government need, to back 
their blows, 

Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.) 


92 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


Never young Civilian’s prospects were so bright, 
Till an Indian paper found that he could write : 
Never young Civilian’s prospects were so dark, 
When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his 
mark. 

Certainly he scored it, bold and black and firm, 
In that Indian paper—made his seniors squirm, 
Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth— 
Was there ever known a more misguided youth ? 

When the Hag he wrote for praised his plucky 
game, 

Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame: 

When the men he wrote of shook their heads 
and swore, 

Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more. 

Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim. 

Till he found promotion didn’t come to him; 

Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, 
And his many Districts curiously hot. 


THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE. 93 

Till lie found his furlough strangely hard to win, 

Boanerges Blitzen didn’t care a pin : 

Then it seemed to dawn on him something 
wasn’t right— 

Boanerges Blitzen put it down to “ spite.” 

Languished in a District desolate and dry; 

Watched the Local Government yearly pass him 

by; 

Wondered where the hitch was; called it most 
unfair. 

That was seven years ago—and he still is there. 


94 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


MUNICIPAL. 

t( Why is my District death-rate low ? 99 

Said Binks of Hezabad. 

“Wells, drains, and sewage-outfalls are 
My own peculiar fad. 

I learnt a lesson once. It ran 
“ Thus,” quoth that most veracious man :— 


It was an August evening, and, in snowy gar¬ 
ments clad, 

I paid a round of visits in the lines of Heza¬ 
bad ; 

When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like 
at all, 

A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall. 


I couldn’t see the driver, and across my mind it 
rushed 

That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly 
gone musth . 


MUNICIPAL. 


95 


I didn’t care to meet him, and I couldn’t well get 
down, 

So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the 
town. 

« 

The buggy was a new one, and, praise Dykes, it 
stood the strain, 

Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above the 
City Drain ; 

And the next that I remember was a hurricane 
of squeals, 

And the creature making toothpicks of my five- 
foot patent wheels. 

He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught 
with fear, 

To the Main Drain sewage-outfall while he snorted 
in my ear— 

Reached the four-foot drain-head safely, and, in 
darkness and despair, 

Felt the brute’s proboscis fingering my terror- 
stiffened hair. 


96 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


Heard it trumpet on my shoulder—tried to crawl 
a little higher— 

Found the Main Drain sewage-outfall blocked, 
some eight feet up, with mire; 

And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very 
marrow froze, 

While the trunk was feeling blindly for a pur¬ 
chase on my toes 1 

It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was 
turning gray 

Before they called the drivers up and dragged 
the brute away. 

Then I sought the City Elders, and my words 
were very plain. 

They flushed that four-foot drain-head, and— it 
never choked again. 

You may hold with surface-drainage, and the 
sun-for-garbage cure, 

Till you’ve been a periwinkle shrinking coyly up 


a sewer. 


MUNICIPAL 


97 


I believe in well-flushed culverts .... 

This is why the death-rate’s small; 

And, if you don’t believe me, get shikarred 
yourself. That’s all. 
sr 


98 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES, 


A CODE OF MORALS. 

Lest you should think this story true, 
I merely mention I 
Evolved it lately. ’Tis a most 
Unmitigated misstatement. 


Now Jones had left his new-vfed bride to keep 
his house in order, 

And hied away to the Hurriwi Hills above the 
Afghan border, 

To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he 
left he taught 

His wife the working of the Code that sets the 
miles at naught. 


And Love had made him very sage, as Nature 
made her fair; 

So Cupid and Apollo linked, per heliograph, the 
pair. 


A CODE OF MORALS. 99 

At dawn, across the Hiirrum Hills, he flashed her 
counsel wise— 

At e’en the dying sunset bore her husband’s 
homilies. 

He warned her ’gainst seductive youths in scarlet 
clad and gold, 

As much as ’gainst the blandishments paternal of 
the old; 

But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the 
ditty hangs) 

That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General 
Bangs. 

’Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, that 
tittupped on the way, 

When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at 

P%; 

They thought of Border risings, and of stations 
sacked and burnt— 

So stopped to take the message down—and this 
is what they learnt:— 


100 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


“ Dash dot dot. dot, dot dash, dot dash dot 99 
twice. The General swore. 

“ Was ever General Officer addressed as ‘ dear 3 
before ? 

u ‘ My Love/ i’ faith! ‘ My Duck/ Gadzooks ! 

‘ My darling popsy-wop ! ’ 

Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that 
mountain top ? ” 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded 
Staff were still, 

As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that 
message from the hill; 

For, clear as summer’s lightning flare, the hus¬ 
band’s warning ran :— 

i6 Don’t dance or ride with General Bangs— a 
most immoral man.” 

(At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed 
her counsel wise— 

But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large 
hath eyes.) 


A CODE OF MORALS. 101 

With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed 
his wife 

Some interesting details of the General’s private 
life. < 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the shining 
Staff were still, 

And red and ever redder grew the General’s 
shaven gill. 

And this is what he said at last (his feelings 
matter not):—• 

“ I think we’ve tapped a private line. Hi 1 
Threes about there ! Trot! ” 

All honor unto Bangs, for ne’er did Jones there¬ 
after know 

By word or act official who read off that helio .; 

But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni 
to Moolfom 

They know the worthy General as “ that most 
immoral man.” 


102 


DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 


THE LAST DEPARTMENT. 

Twelve hundred million men are spread 
About this Earth, and I and You 
Wonder, when You and I are dead, 

What will those luckless millions do ? 

“ None whole or clean/’ we cry, (C or free from 
stain 

Of favor.” Wait awhile, till we attain 

The Last Department, where nor fraud nor fools, 
Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. 

Fear, Favor, or Affection—what are these 
To the grim Head who claims our services? 

I never knew a wife or interest yet 
Delay that pukka step, miscalled “ decease ; 99 

When leave, long over-due, none can deny, 
When idleness of all Eternity 

Becomes our furlough, and the marigold 
Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury 

4 


THE LAST DEPARTMENT. 103 

Transferred to the Eternal Settlement, 

Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent, 

No longer Brown reverses Smith’s appeals. 

Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent. 

And One, long since a pillar of the Court, 

As mud between the beams thereof is wrought 5 
And One who wrote on phosphates for the 
crops. 

Is subject-matter of his own Report. 

(These be the glorious ends whereto we pass— 
Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; 

And He shall see the mallie steais the 
slab 

For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass.) 

A breath of wind, a Border bullet’s flight 
A draught of water, or a horse’s fright— 

The droning of the fat Sheristadar 
Cg^ises, the punkah stops, and falls the night 


104 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. 

For you or Me. Do those who live decline 
The step that offers, or their work resign ? 

Trust me, To-day’s Most Indispensables, 

Five hundred men can take your place or mina 






OTHER VERS®. 



































































































TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS. 


Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; 
my soul going out from afar? 

Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty 
and cautious shikar? 

Have I met you and passed you already, unknow¬ 
ing, unthinking and blind ? 

Shall I meet you next season at Simla, 0 sweetest 
and best of your kind ? 

Does the P. and 0. bear you to me-ward, or, clad 
in short frocks in the West, 

Are you growing the charms that shall capture 
and torture the heart in my breast ? 

Will you stay in the Plains till September—my 
passion as warm as the day ? 

Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or 
where the thermantidotes play? 


107 


108 OTHER VERSES. 

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid 
the mean lesser lights I pursue, 

And the charm of your presence shall lure me 
from love of the gay “ thirteen-two; v 


When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; 

when I buy me Calcutta-built clothes; 

When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; for¬ 
swearing the swearing of oaths; 


As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 
’mid the gibes of my friends ; 

When the days of my freedom are numbered, 
and the life of the bachelor ends. 


Ah Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old 
on Mars Hill when they raised 
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a 
young Pagan, have praised 


TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS. 109 

Tin* Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if 
half that men tell me be true, 

You will come in the future, and therefore these 
verses are written to you. 





11G 


OTHER VERSES, 


THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL’VIN. 

[Allowing for the difierence ’twixt prose and rhymed exagger¬ 
ation, this ought to reproduce the sense of what Sir A-told 

the nation some time ago, when the Government struck from our 
incomes two per cent.] 

Now the New Year, reviving last Year’s Debt, 
The Thoughtful Fisher castetli wide his Net; 

So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue 
Assail all Men for all that I can get. 

Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues— 
Lo ! Salt a Lever that I dare not use, 

Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal— 

Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse I 

Pay—and I promise by the Dust of Spring, 
Retrenchment. If my promises can bring 
Comfort, Ye have Them now a thousand-fold— 
By Allah ! I will promise Anything ! 


THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAl/viN. Ill 
Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before 
I swore—but did I mean it when I swore ? 

And then, and then, We wandered to the 
Hills, 

And so the Little Less became Much More. 

Whether at Boileaugunge or Babylon, 

I know not how the wretched Thing is done, 

The Items of Receipt grow surely small; 

The Items of Expense mount one by one. 

I cannot help it. What have I to do 
With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two ? 
Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they 
please, 

Or Statemen call me foolish—Heed not you. 

Behold, I promise—Anything You will. 

Behold, I greet you with an empty Till— 

Ah ! Fellow-Sinners, of your Charity 
Seek not the Reason of the Dearth, but fill. 


112 OTHER VERSES. 

For if I sinned and fell, where lies the Gain 
Of Knowledge? Would it ease you of your 
Pain 

To know the tangled Threads of Revenue, 

I ravel deeper in a hopeless Skein ? 

“ Who hath not Prudence ”—what was it I said, 
Of Her who paints Her Eyes and tires Her 
Head, 

And gibes and mocks the People in the Street, 
And fawns upon them for Her thriftless Bread ? 

Accursed is She of Eve’s daughters—She 
Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be 
Destruction . . . Brethren, of your Bounty 
grant 

Some portion of your daily Bread to Me. 


LA NUIT BLANCHE. 


113 


LA NUIT BLANCHE. 

A Much-Discerning Public hold 
The Singer generally sings 
Of personal and private things, 

And prints and sells his past for gold. 

Whatever I may here disclaim, 

The very clever folk I sing to 
Will most indubitably cling to 
Their pet delusion, just the same. 

I had seen, as dawn was breaking 
And I staggered to my rest, 

Tari Devi softly shaking 

From the Cart Road to the crest. 

I had seen the spurs of Jakko 
Heave and quiver, swell and sink. 

Was it Earthquake or tobacco, 

Day of Doom or Night of Drink ? 

In the full, fresh, fragrant morning 
I observed a camel crawl, 

Laws of gravitation scorning, 

On the ceiling and the wall; 


8 


114 OTHER VERSES. 

Then I watched a fender walking, 

And I heard gray leeches sing, 

And a red-hot monkey talking 
Did not seem the proper thing. 

Then a creature, skinned and crimson, 
Ran about the floor and cried, 

And they said I had the “ jims ” on, 

And they dosed me with bromide, 

And they locked me in my bedroom— 
Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse— 
Though I said: “ To give my head room 
You had best unroof the house.” 

But my words were all unheeded, 

Though I told the grave M.D. 

That the treatment really needed 
Was a dip in open sea 
That was lapping just below me, 

Smooth as silver, white as snow, 

And it took three men to throw me 
When I found I could not go. 


LA NUIT BLANCHE. 


115 


Half the night I watch the Heavens 
Fizz like ’81 champagne— 

Fly to sixes and to sevens, 

Wheel and thunder back again; * 

And when all was peace and order 
Save one planet nailed askew. 

Much I wept because my warder 
Would not let me set it true. 

After frenzied hours of waiting, 

When the Earth and Skies were dumb, 
Pealed an awful voice dictating 
An interminable sum, 

Changing to a tangled story— 

“ What she said you said I said — n 
Till the Moon arose in glory, 

And I found her ... in my headj 

Then a Face came, blind and weepings 
And It couldn’t wipe Its eyes, 

And It muttered I was keeping 

Back the moonlight from the skies) 


116 


OTHER VERSES. 


So I patted It for pity, 

But It whistled shrill with wrath, 

And a huge black Devil City 
Poured its peoples on my path. 

So I fled with steps uncertain 
On a thousand-year long race, 

But the bellying of the curtain 
Kept me always in one place; 

While the tumult rose and maddened 
To the roar of Earth on fire, 

Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened 
To a whisper tense as wire. 

In intolerable stillness 
Rose one little, little star, 

And it chuckled at my illness, 

And it mocked me from afar; 

And its brethren came and eyed me. 
Called the Universe to aid, 

Till I lay, with naught to hide me, 
'Neath the Scorn of All Things Made* 


LA NUIT BLANCHE. 


117 


Dun and saffron, robed and splendid, 
Broke the solemn, pitying Day, 
And I knew my pains were ended, 
And I turned and tried to pray; 
But my speech was shattered wholly, 
And I wept as children weep, 

Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, 
Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 


118 


OTHER VERSES. 


MY RIVAL. 

I GO to concert, party, ball— 

What profit is in these ? 

I sit alone against the wall 
And strive to look at ease. 

The incense that is mine by right 
They burn before Her shrine ; 

And that’s because I’m seventeen 
And She is forty-nine. 

I cannot check my girlish blush, 

My color comes and goes; 

I redden to my finger-tips, 

And sometimes to my nose. 

But She is white where white should be* 
And red where red should shine. 

The blush that flies at seventeen 
Is fixed at forty-nine. 


MY RIVAL. 


119 


1 wish I had Her constant cheek: 

I wish that I could sing 
All sorts of funny little songs, 

Not quite the proper thing. 

I’m very gauche and very shy, 

Her jokes aren’t in my line; 

And, worst of all, I’m seventeen 
While She is forty-nine. 

The young men come, the young men go, 
Each pink and white and neat, 

She’s older than their mothers, but 
They grovel at Her feet. 

They walk besides Her ’rickshaw wheels— 
None ever walk by mine; 

And that’s because I’m seventeen 
And She is forty-nine. 

She rides with half a dozen men, 

(She calls them “boys ” and “mashers'*) 
l trot along the Mall alone; 

My prettiest frocks and sashes 


120 


OTHER VERSES. 


Don’t help to fill my program-card, 

And vainly I repine 

From ten to two A. M. Ah me ! 

Would I were forty-nine ! 

She calls me “ darling/’ “ pet/’ and “ dear/* 
And “ sweet retiring maid.” 

I’m always at the back, I know, 

She puts me in the shade. 

She introduces me to men, 

“ Cast ” lovers, I opine, 

For sixty takes to seventeen. 

Nineteen to forty-nine. 

But even She must older grow 
And end Her dancing days, 

She can’t go on forever so 
At concerts, balls, and plays. 

One ray of priceless hope I see 
Before my footsteps shine ; 

Just think, that She’ll he eighty-one 
When I am forty-nine. 


THE LOVERS’ LITANY. 


121 


THE LOVERS’ LITANY. 

Eyes of gray—a sodden quay. 

Driving rain and falling tears, 

As the steamer wears to sea 
In a parting storm of cheers. 

Sing, for Faith and Hope are high— 
None so true as you and I— 

Sing the Lovers’ Litany :— 

“ Love like ours can never die ! 99 

Eyes of black—a throbbing keel, 

Milky foam to left and right; 
Whispered converse near the wheel 
In the brilliant tropic night. 

Cross that rules the Southern Sky! 
Stars that sweep and wheel and fly. 
Hear the Lovers’ Litany :— 

“ Love like ours can never die ! 99 


122 


OTHER VERSES. 


Eyes of brown—a dusty plain 
Split and parched with heat of June, 
Flying hoof and tightened rein, 
Hearts that beat the old, old tune. 
Side by side the horses fly, 

Frame we now the old reply 
Of the Lovers’ Litany :— 

“ Love like ours can never die / ” 

Eyes of blue—the Simla Hills 
Silvered with the moonlight hoar; 
Pleading of the waltz that thrills, 

Dies and echoes round Benmore. 
“Mabel” “Officers” “ Good-by” 
Glamour, wine, and witchery— 

On my soul’s sincerity, 

“ Love like ours can never die f ** 

Maidens, of your charity, 

Pity my most luckless state. 

Four times Cupid’s debtor I— 
Bankrupt m quadruplicate. 


THE LOVERS’ LITANY. 

Yet, despite this evil case, 

An a maiden showed me grace, 
Four-and-forty times would I 
Sing the Lovers’ Litany :— 
ci Love like ours can never die l 99 


124 


OTHER VERSES. 


A BALLAD OF BURIAL. 

('* Saint Praxed's ever was the Church for peace .”) 

If down here I chance to die, 
Solemnly I beg you take 
All that is left of “ I ” 

To the Hills for old sake’s sake. 
Pack me very thoroughly 
In the ice that used to slake 
Pegs I drank when I was dry— 

This observe for old sake’s sake. 

To the railway station hie, 

There a single ticket take 
For Umballa—goods-train—I 
Shall not mind delay or shake. 

I shall rest contentedly 

Spite of clamor coolies make; 
Thus in state and dignity 

Send me up for old sake’s sake. 


A BALLAD OF BURIAL. 


Next the sleepy Babu wake, 

Book a Kalka van “ for foui f 
Pew, I think, will care to make 
Journeys with me any more 
As they used to do of yore. 

I shall need a “ special ” break — 
Thing I never took before— 

Get me one for old sake’s sake. 

After that—arrangements make. 

No hotel will take me in, 

And a bullock’s back would break 
’Neath the teak and leaden skin, 
Tonga ropes are frail and thin, 

Or, did I a back-seat take, 

In a tonga I might spin,— 

Do your best for old sake’s sake. 

After that—your work is done. 

Becollect a Padre must 
Mourn the dear departed one— 
Throw the ashes and the dust. 


126 


OTHER VERSES. 


Don’t go down at once. I trust 
You will find excuse to “ snake 
Three days’ casual on the bust,” 
Get your fun for old sake’s sake. 

I could never stand the Plains. 

Think of blazing June and May, 
Think of those September rains 
Yearly till the Judgment Day ! 

I should never rest in peace, 

I should sweat and lie awake. 
Rail me then, on my decease, 

To the Hills for old sake’s sake. 


DIVIDED DESTINIES. 


127 


DIVIDED DESTINIES. 

It was an artless Bandar , and he danced upon 
a pine, 

And much I wondered how he lived, and where 
the beast might dine, 

And many, many other things, till, o’er my 
morning smoke, 

1 slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that 
Bandar spoke. 

He said: “ 0 man of many clothes! Sad 

crawler on the Hills ! 

Observe, I know not Ranken’s shop, nor Ran¬ 
ken’s monthly bills; 

I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you 
call dress ; 

Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks 
at Mess. 


128 OTHER VERSES. 

“ I steal the bunnia’s grain at morn, at noon and 
eventide, 

(For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the moun¬ 
tain side, 

I follow no man’s carriage, and no, never in 
my life 

Have I flirted at Peliti’s with another Bandar’s 

wife. 

“ 0 man of futile fopperies — unnecessary 
wraps; 

I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall¬ 
wheeled traps; 

I buy me not twelve-button gloves, c short sixes ’ 
eke, or rings, 

Nor do I waste at Hamilton’s my wealth on 
6 pretty things.’ 

“ I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight 
abroad ; 

But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only 

lord. 


DIVIDED DESTINIES. 


129 


1 never heard of fever—dumps nor debts depress 
my soul; 

And I pity and despise you ! ” Here lie pouched 
my breakfast-roll. 

His hide was very mangy, and his face was very red 

And ever and anon he scratched with energy hi 
head. 

His manners were not always nice, but how my 
spirit cried 

To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain 
side! 

So I answered : “ Gentle Bandar , an inscrutable 
Decree 

Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a 
wretched Me. 

Go ! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home 
amid the pine; 

Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change 

his lot with thine.” 

9 


130 


OTHER VERSES. 


THE MASQUE OF PLENTY. 

I 

Argument. —The Indian Government, being minded to dis¬ 
cover the economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee 
to inquire into it; and saw that it was good. 

Scene.— The wooded heights of Simla. The 
Incarnation of the Government of India in 
She raiment of the Angel of Plenty sings, to 
pianoforte accompaniment :— 

* How sweet is the shepherd’^ ^weet life! 

From the dawn to the even he strays— 

He shall follow his sheep all the day, 

And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 

[Adagio dim.) Filled with praise ! ” 

(Largendo con sp .) Now this is the position, 

Go make an inquisition 
Into their real condition 
As swiftly as ye may. 


THE MASQUE OF PLENTY. 


131 


(p.) Ay, paint our swarthy billions 
The richest of vermilions 
Ere two well-led cotillions 

Have danced themselves away. 

Turkish Patrol, as able and intelligent Investi* 
gators wind down the Himalayas :— 

What is the state of the Nation ? What is its 
occupation ? 

Hi! get along, get along, get along—lend us 
the information ! 

{Dim.) Census the hyle and the yabu —capture a 
first-class Babu, 

Set him to cut Gazetteers—Gazetteers . . 

{ff.) What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc. 

Interlude, from Nowhere in Particular , to 
stringed and Oriental instruments. 

Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear— 

The earth is iron, and the skies are brass— 


132 OTHER VERSES. 

And faint with fervor of the flaming air 
The langu id hours pass 

The well is dry beneath the village tree— 

The young wheat withers ere it reach a 
span, 

And belts of blinding sand show cruelly 
Where once the river ran. 

Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King— 
Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, 

Look westward—if they please, the Gods shall 
bring 

Their mercy with the rain. 

Look westward—bears the blue no brown cloud¬ 
bank ? 

Nay, it is written—wherefore should we 
fly? 

On our own field and by our cattle’s flank 
Lie down, lie down to die ! 


THE MASQUE OF PLENTY. 


133 


Semi-Chorus. 

By the plumed heads of Kings 
Waving high, 

Where the tall corn springs 

O’er the dead. 


If they rust or rot we die, 

If they ripen we are fed. 

Very mighty is the power of our Kings ! 

Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators i 
attired after the manner of Dionysus, leading 
a pet-tiger in wreaths of rhubarb leaves , sym¬ 
bolical of India under medical treatment . 
They sing: 

We have seen, we have written—behold it, the 
proof of our manifold toil! 

In their hosts they assembled and told it —the 
tale of the sons of the soil. 


134 OTHER VERSES. 

We have said of the Sickness, “ Where is it? 
and of Death, “ It is far from our ken ; 99 

We have paid a particular visit to the affluent 
children of men. 

We have trodden the mart and the well-curb— 
we have stooped to the bield and the byre; 

And the King may the forces of Hell curb, for 
the People have all they desire! 

Castanets and step-dance: 

Oh, the dom and the mag and the tliakur and 
the thag , 

And the nat and the brinjaree, 

And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and 
as quiet 

And as plump as they can be ! 

Yes, the yam and the jat in his stucco-fronted 
hut, 

And the bounding bazugar , 

By the favor of the King, are as fat as anything, 

They are—they are—they are # 


THE MASQUE OF PLENTY, 


135 


Recitative, Government of India , with white 
satin wings and electroplated harp :— 

How beautiful upon the mountains—in peac« 
reclining, 

Thus to be assured that our people are unani¬ 
mously dining. 

And though there are places not so blessed as 
others in natural advantages, which, after all, 
was only to be expected, 

Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upom 
the work you have thus ably effected. 

(Cres .) How be-ewtiful upon the mountains! 

Hired Band, brasses only , full chorus: 

God bless the Squire 
And all his rich relations 
Who teach us poor people 
We eat our proper rations— 

We eat our proper rations. 

In spite of inundations. 


136 


OTHER VERSES. 


Malarial exhalations, 

And casual starvations, 

We have, we have, they say we have — 
We have our proper rations! 

(Cornet.) 

Which nobody can deny! 

If he does he tells a lie— 

We are all as willing as Barkis—- 
We all of us loves the Markiss— 

We all of us stuffs our ca-ar-kis— 
With food until we die! (Da capo.) 

Chorus of the Crystalized Facts. 

Before the beginning of years 
There came to the rule of the State 
Men with a pair of shears, 

Men with an Estimate— 

Strachey with Muir for leaven, 

Lytton with locks that fell, 

Ripon fooling with Heaven, 

And Temple riding like H-ll 1 


THE MASQUE OF PLENTY. 137 

And the bigots took in hand 
Cess and the falling of rain, 

And the measure of sifted sand 
The dealer puts in the grain- 
imports by land and sea, 

To uttermost decimal worth, 

And registration—free— 

In the houses of death and of birth: 

And fashioned with pens and paper, 

And fashioned in black and white, 

With Life for a flickering taper 
And Death for a blazing light— 

With the Armed and the Civil Power, 

That his strength might endure for a span, 
From Adam’s Bridge to Peshawur, 

The Much Administered man. 

In the towns of the North and the East, 
They gathered as unto rule, 

They bade him starve the priest 
And send his children to school. 

Railways and roads they wrought 


138 


OTHER VERSES. 


For the needs of the soil within ; 

A time to squabble in court, 

A time to bear and to grin. 

And gave him peace in his ways, 

Jails—and Police to fight, 

Justice at length of days, 

And Right—and Might in the Right. 
His speech is of mortgaged bedding, 
On his kine he borrows yet, 

At his heart is his daughter’s wedding. 
In his eye foreknowledge of debt. 

He eats and hath indigestion, 

He toils and he may not stop; 

His life is a long-drawn question 
Between a crop and a crop. 


THE MAKERS NEST. 


139 


THE MARE’S NEST. 

Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 
Was good beyond all earthly heed; 

But, on the other hand, her spouse 
Was very, very bad indeed. 

He smoked cigars, called churches slow, 
And raced—but this she did not know. 

For Belial Machiavelli kept 
The little fact a secret, and, 

Though o’er his minor sins she wept, 

Jane Austen did not understand 

That Lilly—thirteen two and bay— 

Absorbed one half her husband’s pay. 

She was so good, she made him worse \ 
(Some women are like this, I think;) 

He taught her parrot how to curse, 

Her Assam monkey how to drink. 


140 


OTHER VERSES. 


He vexed her righteous soul until 
She went tip, and he went down hill. 

Then came the crisis, strange to say, 

Which turned a good wife to a better. 

A telegraphic peon, one day, 

Brought her—now, had it been a letter 
For Belial Machiavelli, I 
Know Jane would just have let it lie. 

But ’twas a telegram instead, 

Marked “ urgent,” and her duty plain 
To open it. Jane Austen read:— 
u Your Lilly’s got a cough again. 

Can’t understand why she is kept 
At your expense.” Jane Austen wept. 

It was a misdirected wire. 

Her husband was at Shaitanpore. 

She spread her anger, hot as fire, 

Through six thin foreign sheets or more. 


141 


THE MARE’S NEST. 

Sent off that letter, wrote another 
To her solicitor—and mother. 

Then Belial Machiavelli saw 
Her error and, I trust, his own, 
Wired to the minion of the Law, 

And traveled wifeward—not alone. 
For Lilly—thirteen-two and bay— 
Came in a horse-box all the way. 

There was a scene—a weep or two— 
With many kisses. Austen Jane 
Rode Lilly all the season through, 

And never opened wires again. 

She races now with Belial. This 
Is very sad, but so it is. 


< 


142 


OTHER VERSES* 


POSSIBILITIES, 

Ay, lay him ’neath the Simla pine— 

A fortnight fully to be missed, 

Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, 

A chair is vacant where we dine. 

His place forgets him; other men 

Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. 
His fortune is the Great Perhaps 
And that cool rest-house down the glen, 

Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, 

Our mundane revel on the height, 

Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw- light 
Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. 

Benmore shall woo him to the ball 

With lighted rooms and braying band, 
And he shall hear and understand 
“ Dream Faces ” better than as ail 


POSSIBILITIES. 


143 


For, think you, as the vapors flee 
Across Sanjaolie after rain, 

His soul may climb the hill again 
To each old field of victory. 


Unseen, who women held so dear, 

The strong man’s yearning to his kind 
Shall shake at most the window-blind, 
Or dull awhile the card-room’s cheer. 


In his own place of power unknown, 
His Light o’ Love another’s flame, 
His dearest pony galloped lame, 
And he an alien and alone. 


Yet may he meet with many a friend— 
Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen 
Among ns when ci God save the Queen ** 
Shows even u extras ” have an end. 


L44 


OTHER VERSES. 


And, when we leave the heated room, 
And, when at four the lights expire, 
The crew shall gather round the fire 
And mock our laughter in the gloom* 

Talk as we talked, and they ere death—* 
First wanly, dance in ghostly wise, 
With ghosts of tunes for melodies, 
And vanish at the morning’s breath. 


CHRISTMAS IN INDIA. 


145 


CHRISTMAS IN INDIA. 

Dim dawn behind the tamarisks—the sky is 
saffron-yellow— 

As the women in the village grind the corn, 

And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling 
to his fellow 

That the Day, the staring Eastern Day is horn. 

Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the 
stenches in the byway ! 

Oh the clammy fog that hovers over earth ! 

And at Home they’re making merry ’neath 
the white and scarlet berry— 

What part have India’s exiles in their 
mirth ? 

Full day behind the tamarisks—the sky is blue 
and staring— 

As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, 


146 OTHER VERSES. 

And they bear One o’er the field-path, who 
past all hope or caring, 

To the gaht below the curling wreaths of 
smoke. 

Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a 
brother lowly— 

Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your 
voice! 

With our hymn-books and our psalters we 
appeal to other altars, 

And to-day we bid “ good Christian men 
rejoice ! ” 

High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot 
above us— 

As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. 

They will drink our healths at dinner—those who 
tell us how they love us, 

And forget us till another year be gone ! 

Oh the toil that knows no breaking ! Oh ! 
the Heimwehf ceaseless, aching ?. 


CHRISTMAS IN INDIA. 147 

Oil the black dividing Sea and alien Plain ! 
Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it. 
Gold was good—we hoped to hold it, 
And to-day we know the fulness of our 
gain. 


Gray dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly 
together— 

As the sun is sinking slowly over Home; 

And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a 
lifelong tether 

That drags us back howe’er so far we 
roam. 

Hard her service, poor her payment—she in 
ancient, tattered raiment— 

India, she the grim Stepmother of our 
kind. 

If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s 
shrine we enter, 

The door is shut—we may not look 
behind. 


148 OTHER VERSES. 

Black night "behind the tamarisks—the owls 
begin their chorus— 

As the conches from the temple scream and 
bray. 

With the fruitless years behind us, and the hope¬ 
less years before us, 

Let us honor, 0 my brothers, Christmas Day ! 

Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us 
feast with friends and neighbors, 
And be merry as the custom of our caste ; 

For if “ faint and forced the laughter,’* and 
if sadness follow after, 

We are richer by one mocking Christmas 
past. 


PAGETT. M. P. 


119 


PAGETT, M. P. 

The toad beneath the harrow knows 
Exactly where each tooth-point goes. 
The butterfly upon the road 
Preaches contentment to that toad. 


Pagett, M. P., was a liar, and a fluent liar 
therewith,— 

He spoke of the heat of India as the “ Asian 
Solar Myth; ” 

Came on a four months* visit, to “ study the 
East,” in November, 

And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to 
stay till September. 

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool 
and gay, 

Called me a “ bloated Brahmin,” talked of my 
“ princely pay.” 


150 OTHER VERSES. 

March went out with the roses. u Where is your 
heat ? ” said he. 

66 Coming/’ said I to Pagett. “ Skittles ! ” said 
Pagett, M. P. 

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly- 
heat,— 

Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found 
him a treat. 

He grew speckled and lumpy — hammered, I 
grieve to say, 

Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal 
way. 

May set in with a dust-storm,—Pagett went down 
with the sun. 

All the delights of the season tickled him one 
by one. 

Imprimis —ten days’ “ liver ”—due to his drink¬ 
ing beer; 

Later, a dose of fever—slight, but he called it 


severe. 


PAGETT, M. P. 151 

Dysentery touched him in June, after the Chota 
Bur sat — 

Lowered his portly person—made him yearn to 
depart. 

He didn’t call me a “ Brahmin/’ or “ bloated/’ 
or “ overpaid/’ 

But seemed to think it a wonder that any one 
stayed. 

July was a trifle unhealthy,—Paget was ill with 
fear, 

’Called it the “ Cholera Morbus,” hinted that life 
was dear. 

He babbled of u Eastern exile,” and mentioned his 
home with tears; 

But I hadn’t seen my children for close upon 
seven years. 

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the 
Court at noon, 

(I’ve mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett went 
off in a swoon. 


152 OTHER VERSES. 

That was an end to the business; Pagett, the 
perjured, fled 

With a practical, working knowledge of “ Solar 
Myths ” in his head. 

And I laughed as I drove from the station, but 
the mirth died out on my lips 

As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write 
of their “ Eastern trips,” 

And the sneers of the traveled idiots who duly 
misgovern the land, 

And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one 
into my hand. 


THE SONG OF THE WOMEN. 


153 


THE SONG OF THE WOMEN. 

V adiy Dufferin’s fund for medical aid to the Women of India.) 

How shall she know the worship we would do 
her ? 

The walls are high, and she is very far. 

How shall the women’s message reach unto her 
Above the tumult of the packed bazaar ? 

Free wind of March, against the lattice 
blowing, 

Bear thou our thanks, lest she depart un¬ 
knowing. 

Go forth across the fields we may not roam in, 
Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city, 

To whatsoe’er fair place she hath her home 
in, 

Who dowered us with wealth of love and 


154 


OTHER VERSES. 


Out of our shadow pass, and seek hei sing- 
ing— 

“ I have no gifts but Love alone for bring- 
ing. 5> 

Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her, 

But old in grief, and very wise in tears; 

Say that we, being desolate, entreat her 
That she forget us not in after years; 

For we have seen the light, and it were 
grievous 

To dim that dawning if our lady leave us. 

By life that ebbed with none to stanch the fail¬ 
ing, 

By Love’s sad harvest garnered in the spring, 

When Love in ignorance wept unavailing 

O’er young buds dead before their blos¬ 
soming ; 

By all the gray owl watched, the pale moon 
viewed, 

tn past grim years, declare our gratitude • 


THE SONG OF THE WOMEN. 


155 


By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not, 
i By gifts that found no favor in their sight, 

By faces bent above the babe that stirred not. 
By nameless horrors of the stifling night; 

By ills foredone, by peace her toils discover, 
Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven 
above her! 

If she have sent her servants in our pain, 

If she have fought with Death and dulled his 
sword; 

If she have given back our sick again, 

And to the breast the weakling lips restored, 
Is it a little thing that she has wrought ? 
Then Life and Death and Motherhood be 
nought. 

Go forth, 0 wind, our message on thy wings, 
And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee 
speed, 

In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings, 
Who have been lielpen by her in their need. 


156 


OTHER VERSES. 


All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the 
wheat 

Shall be a tasseled floorcloth to thy feet. 

Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no 
rest 1 

Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea 
Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confest, 

Of those in darkness by her hand set free, 
Then very softly to her presence move, 

And whisper: “ Lady, lo, they know and 


A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL. 


157 


A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL. 

One moment bid the horses wait, 

Since tiffin is not laid till three, 
Below the upward path and straight 
You climbed a year ago with me. 
Love came upon us suddenly 

And loosed—an idle hour to kill—— 
A headless, armless armory 

That smote us both on Jakko Hill. 

Ah Heaven ! we would wait and wait 
Through Time and to Eternity ! 

Ah Heaven ! we could conquer Fate 
With more than Godlike constancy! 
I cut the date upon a tree— 

Here stand the clumsy figures still 
“ 10-7-85, A.D.” 

Damp with the mist on Jakko Hill. 

* 


158 


OTHER VERSES. 


What came of high resolve and great, 

And until Death fidelity ? 

Whose horse is waiting at your gate ? 
Whose ’Wc&sAaw-wheels ride over me ? 

No Saint’s, I swear; and—let me see 

To-night what names your program fill—' 

We drift asunder merrily, 

As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill! 

l’envoi. 

Princess, behold our ancient state 
Has clean departed ; and we see 

’Twas Idleness we took for Fate 

That hound light bonds on you and me. 

Amen ! Here ends the comedy 
Where it began in all good will; 

Since Love and Leave together flee 
As driven mist on Jakko Hill 1 


THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANOEES. 159 


THE PLEA OP THE SIMLA DANCERS. 

Too late, alas ! the song 
To remedy the wrong ;— 

The rooms are taken from us, swept and garnished for their fate, 
But these tear-besprinkled pages 
Shall attest to future ages 

That we cried against the crime of it—too late, alas 1 too late 1 

“ W hat have we ever done to bear this grudge ? ” 
Was there no room save only in Benmore 
For docket, duftar, and for office drudge, 

That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor ? 
Must babus do their work on polished teak? 

Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill ? 
Was there no other cheaper house to seek? 

You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill. 

We never harmed you! Innocent our guise, 
Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; 

And we revolved to divers melodies, 

And we were happy but a year ago. 


160 OTHER VERSES. 

To-night, the moon that watched our lightsome 
wiles— 

That beamed upon us through the deodars— 

Is wan with gazing on official files, 

And desecrating desks disgust the stars. 

Nay ! by the memory of tuneful nights— 

Nay ! by the witchery of flying feet— 

Nay ! by the glamour of foredone delights— 

By all things merry* musical, and meet— 

By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes— 

By wailing waltz—by reckless galops strain—• 
By dim verandas and by soft replies, 

Give us our ravished ball-room back again J 

Or—harken to the curse we lay on you ! 

The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your 
brain, 

And murmurs of past merriment pursue 

Your ’wildered clerks that they indite in 


vain; 


THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS. 161 

And, when you count your poor Provincial 
millions, 

The only figures that your pen shall frame 
Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillions 
Danced out in tumult long before you came. 

Y ea ! “ See Saw ” shall upset your estimates, 

“ Dream Faces ” shall your heavy heads be¬ 
muse, 

Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates 
Our temple ; fit for higher, worthier use. 

And all the long verandas, eloquent 
With echoes of a score of Simla years, 

Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment— 
Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears. 

So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, 

So shall you toil, and shall accomplish 
nought, 

And ever in your ears a phantom Band 
Shall blare away the staid official thought. 


162 


OTHER VERSES. 


Wherefore—and ere this awful curse be spoken, 
Cast out your swarthy sacrilegious train, 

And give—ere dancing cease and hearts be 
broken— 

Give us our ravished ball-room back again ! 


BALLAD OF FISHER’S BOARDING-HOUSE. 163 


BALLAD OF FISHER’S BOARDING-HOUSE 


That night, when through the mooring-chains 
The wide-eyed corpse rolled free, 

To blunder down by Garden Reach 
And rot at Kedgeree, 

The tale the Hughli told the shoal 
The lean shoal told to me. 

’Twas Fultali Fisher’s boarding-house 
Where sailor-men reside, 

And there were men of all the ports 
From Mississip to Clyde, 

And regally they spat and smoked, 
And fearsomely they lied. 

They lied about the purple Sea 
That gave them scanty bread, 

They lied about the Earth beneath. 
The Heavens overhead, 

For they had looked too often on 
Black rum when that was red. 


164 


OTHER VERSES. 


They told their tales of wreck and wrong, 

Of shame and lust and fraud, 

They backed their toughest statements with 
The Brimstone of the Lord, 

And crackling oaths went to and fro 
Across the fist-banged board. 

And there was Hans the Blue-eyed Dane, 
Bull-throated, bare of arm, 

Who carried on his hairy chest 
The maid Ultruda’s charm— 

The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 

And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, 

And Pamba the Malay, 

And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, 

And Luz from Vigo Bay, 

And Honest Jack who sold them slops 
And harvested their pay. 

Arid there was Salem Hardieker, 

A lean Bostonian he— 


BALLAD OF FISHER^ BOARDING-HOUSE. 165 

Russ, German, English, Halfbreed* Finn, 
Yank, Dane, and Portugee, 

At Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house 
They rested from the sea. 

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks* 
Collinga knew her fame, 

From Tarnau in Galicia 
To Jaun Bazar she came. 

To eat the bread of infamy 
And take the wage of shame. 

She held a dozen men to heel— 

Rich spoil of war was hers, 

In hose and gown and ring and chain, 

From twenty mariners, 

And, by Port Law, that week, men called 
Her Salem Hardieker’s. 

But seamen learnt—what landsmen know— 
That neither gifts nor gain 


166 


OTHER VERSES. 


Can hold a winking Light o’ Love 
Or Fancy’s flight restrain. 

When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes 
On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. 

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife 
From Howrah to the Bay, 

And he may die before the dawn 
Who liquored out the day, 

In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house 
We woo while yet we may. 

But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
Bull-throated, bare of arm, 

And laughter shook the chest beneath 
The maid Ultruda’s charm— 

The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 

* You speak to Salem Hardieker, 

You was his girl, I know. 


BALLAD OF FISHER^ BOARDING-HOUSE. 167 
I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see, 

Und round the Skaw we go, 

South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm^ 

To Besser in Saro.*' 

When love rejected turns to hate, 

All ill betide the man. 

6i You speak to Salem Hardieker 
She spoke as woman can. 

A scream—a sob —“ He called me—names • x 
And then the fray began. 

An oath from Salem Hardieker, 

A shriek upon the stairs, 

A dance of shadows on the wall, 

A knife-thrust unawares— 

And Hans came down, as cattle drop, 

Across the broken chairs. 


o # • « • • « 


In Anne of Austria’s trembling hands 
The weary head fell low s— 


168 


OTHER VERSES. 


u 1 ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight 
For Besser in Saro: 

Und there Ultruda comes to me 
At Easter, und I go 

r ‘ South, down the Cattegat— What’s here 
There—are—no—lights—to—guide ! ” 
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed, 

And Anne of Austria cried 
In Filltah Fisher’s boarding-house 
When Hans the mighty died. 

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
Bull-throated, bare of arm, 

But Anne of Austria looted first 
The maid Ultruda’s charm— 

The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm* 


169 


“as the bell clinks.” 


« AS THE BELL CLINKS.” 

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of 
a comely 

Maid last season worshiped dumbly, watched with 
fervor from afar; 

And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would 
greet me kindly. 

That was all—the rest was settled by the clinking 
tonga-bar. 

Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga 
coupling-bar. 

For my misty meditation, at the second changing- 
station, 

Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tune¬ 
less jar 

Of a Wagner obbligato , scherzo , double-hand 
staccato , 


170 OTHER VERSES. 

Played on either pony’s saddle by the clacking 
tonga-bar— 

Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jig 

^ ging, jolting bar. 

She was sweet,” thought I, “ last season, but 
’twere surely wild unreason 

Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my 
Star, 

When she whispered, something sadly:—‘ I—we 
feel your going badly ! ’ ” 

46 And you let the chance escape you f ” rapped 
the rattling tonsja-bar. 

“ What a chance and what an idiot! ” clinked 
the vicious tonga-bar. 

Heart of man—oh, heart of putty ! Had I gone 
by Kakahutti, 

On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had ’scaped 
that fatal car 

But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched 
the milestones slide by. 


"as the bell clinks.” 171 

To " Tow call on Her to-morrow ! ”—fugue with 
cymbals by the bar—- 

“ You must call on Her to-morrow ! ”—post-horn 
gallop by the bar. 

Yet a further stage my goal on—we were whirl¬ 
ing down to Solon, 

With a double lurch and roll on, best foot fore¬ 
most, ganz und gar — 

46 She was very sweet,” I hinted. “ If a kiss had 
been imprinted— ? ” 

“ 9 Woidd ha' saved a world of trouble ! ” clashed 
the busy tonga-bar. 

“'Been accepted or rejected!" banged and 
clanged the tonga-bar. 

Then a notion wild and daring, ’spite the income 
tax’s paring, 

And a hasty thought of sharing—less than many 
incomes are, 

Made me put a question private, you can guess 
what I would drive at. 


172 


OTHER VERSES. 


“ You must work the mm to prove it ” clanked 
the careless tonga-bar. 

“ Simple Rule of Tico will prove it,” lilted back 
the tonga-bar. 

It was under Khyraghaut I mused :—“ Suppose 
the maid be haughty— 

(There are lovers rich—and forty)—wait some 
wealthy Avatar? 

Answer, monitor untiring, ’twixt the ponies twain 
perspiring ! ” 

“ Faint heart never won fair lady,” creaked the 
straining tonga-bar. 

“ Can I tell you ere you ask Her ? ” pounded 
slow the tonga-bar. 

Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights ol 
Simla burning, 

Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame bj 
far. 

As below the Mall we jingled, through my very 
heart it tingled— 


AS THE BELL CLINKS. 


ee 


173 


Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga- 
bar— 

“ Try your luck—you can’t do better ! 99 twanged 
the loosened tonga-bar. 


174 


OTHER VERSES. 


AN OLD SONG. 

So long as ’neath the Kalka hills 
The tonga-horn shall ring, 

So long as down the Solon dip 
The hard-held ponies swing, 

So long as Tara Devi sees 

The lights o’ Simla town, 

So long as Pleasure calls us up, 

And duty drives us down, 

If you love me as I love you , 
What pair so happy as we two f 

So long as Aces takes the King, 

Or backers take the bet, 

So long as debt leads men to wed, 

Or marriage leads to debt, 

So long as little luncheons, Love, 

And scandal hold their vogue, 


AN OLD SONG. 


175 


While there is sport at Annandale 
Or whisky at Jutogh, 

If you love me as I love you , 

What knife can cut our love in two ? 

So long as down the rocking floor 
The raving polka spins, 

So long as Kitchen Lancers spur 
The maddened violins, 

So long as through the whirling smoke 
We hear the oft-told tale :— 

“ Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,” 

And Whatshername for sale? 

If you love me as I love you , 

Wdll jplay the game and win it too . 

So long as Lust or Lucre tempt 

Straight riders from the course, 

So long as with each drink we pour 
Black brewage of Remorse, 

So long as those unloaded guns 
We keep beside the bed 


76 OTHER VERSES. 

Blow off, by obvious accident, 

The lucky owner’s head. 

If you love me as I love you , 

What can Life kill or Death undo f 

So long as Death ’twixt dance and dance 
Chills best and bravest blood, 

And drops the reckless rider down 
The rotten, rain-soaked khud 9 
So long as rumors from the North 
Make loving wives afraid, 

So long as Burma takes the boy 
And typhoid kills the maid, 

If you love me as I love you , 

What knife can cut our love in twot 

By all that lights our daily life 
Or works our lifelong woe, 

From Boileaugunge to Simla Downs 
And those grim glades below, 

Where, heedless of the flying hoof 
And clamor overhead. 


AN OLD SONG. 


17 


Sleep, with the gray langur for guard* 
Our very scornful Dead, 

If you love me as I love you , 

All Earth is servant to us two ? 

By Docket, Billetdoux, and File, 

By Mountain, Cliff, and Fir, 

By Fan and Sword and Office-box, 

By Corset, Plume, and Spur, 

By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, 

By Women, Work, and Bills, 

By all the life that fizzes in 
The everlasting Hills, 

If you love me as I love you , 
What pair so happy as we two t 

i« 


178 


OTHER VERSES, 


CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ. 


i. 

[p It be pleasant to look on, stalled in tlie packed 
serai , 

Does not the Young Man try Its temper and 
pace ere he buy ? 

If She be pleasant to look on, what does the 
Young Man say ? 

i Lo ! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to 
me to-day! ” 


u. 

Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Je- 
hannum 

If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty pel 
cent per annum. 


CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ. 


179 


III. 

Blister we not for bursati ? So when the heart 
is vext, 

The pain of one maiden’s refusal is drowned in 
the pain of the next. 


IV. 

The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and 
a new piano’s tune— 

Which of the three will you trust at the end of 
an Indian June? 


v. 

Who are the rulers of Ind—to whom shall we 
bow the knee ? 

Make your peace with the women, and men will 
make you L. G. 

VI. 

Does the woodpecker flit round the young ferash f 
Does grass clothe a new-huilt wall ? 

Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a boy 
in her thrall ? 


180 


OTHER VERSES. 


VII. 

If She grow suddenly gracious—reflect. Is it 
all for thee ? 

The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, 
and Man through jealousy. 

VIII. 

Seek not for favor of women. So shall you find 
it indeed. 

Does not the boar break cover just when you’re 
lighting a weed ? 

IX. 

If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels 
of silver and gold, 

Take His money, my son, praising Allah. The 
kid was ordained to be sold. 

x. 

With a “ weed M among men or horses verily this 
is the best, 

That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly 
—but give him no rest. 


CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ. 


181 


XI. 

Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the 
manners and carriage; 

But the colt who is wise will abstain from the 
terrible thorn-bit of Marriage. 

XII. 

As the thriftless gold of the babul , so is the 
gold that we spend 

On a Derby Sweep, or our neighbor’s wife, or 
the horse that we buy from a friend. 

XIII. 

The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet 
simple and tame 

To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling 
or racing that same. 

XIV. 

In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant 
Her smile when ye meet. 

It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus 
on the waves at their feet. 


182 OTHER VERSES. 

In public Her face is averted, with anger She 
nameth thy name. 

It is well. Was there ever a loser content with 
the loss of the game ? 


XV. 

If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips 
are sealed, 

And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom 
is the secret revealed. 

If She have written a letter, delay not an instant, 
but burn it. 

Tear it in pieces, 0 Fool, and the wind to her 
mate shall return it! 

If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the 
blackest can clear, 

Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to 
hear. 

XVI. 

My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scufflingly bid 
thee give o’er, 


CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ. 183 

Yet lip meets with lip at the lastward—get out! 
She has been there before. 

They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the 
nose who are lacking in lore. 

XVII. 

If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof- 
slide is scarred on the course. 

Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth 
forever Remorse. 

XVIII* 

u By all 1 am misunderstood! ” if the Matron 
shall say, or the Maid:— 

w Alas \ I do not understand,” my son, be thou 
nowise afraid. 

In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the 
Fowler displayed. 


XJX. 

My son, if I, Hafiz, thy father, take hold of thy 
knees in my pain* 


184 OTHER VERSES. 

Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day 
or one hour—refrain. 

Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou 
cravest another man’s chain ? 


THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD. 185 


THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD. 

There'S a widow in sleepy Chester 
Who weeps for her only son ; 

There's a grave on the Pabeng Piver 9 
A grave that the Barmans shun , 

And there's Subadar Frag Tewarri 
Who tells how the work was done . 

A Snider squibbed in the jungle, 

Somebody laughed and fled, 

And the men of the first Shikaris 
Picked up their Subaltern dead, 

With a big blue mark in his forehead 
And the back blown out of his head. 


Subadar Prag Tewarri, 
Jemadar Pira Lai, 


186 


OTHER VERSES. 


Took command of the party, 

Twenty rifles in all, 

Marched them down to the river 
As the day was beginning to fall 

They buried the boy by the river, 

A blanket over his face— 

They wept for their dead Lieutenant, 

The men of an alien race— 

They made a samadh in his honor, 

A mark for his resting-place. 

For they swore by the Holy Water, 

They swore by the salt they ate, 

That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib 
Should go to his God in state; 

With fifty file of Burman 
To open him Heaven’s gate. 

The men of the First Shikaris 
Marched till the break of day, 


THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD. 187 

Till they came to the rebel village, 

The village of the Pabengmay— 

A jingal covered the clearing, 

Calthrops hampered the way. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri, 

Bidding them load with ball, 

Halted a dozen rifles 
Under the village wall; 

Sent out a flanking-party 
With Jemadar Hira Lai. 

The men of the First Shikaris 
Shouted and smote and slew. 

Turning the grinning jingal 
On to the howling crew. 

The Jemadar’s flanking-party 
Butchered the folk who flew. 

Long was the morn of slaughter. 

Long was the list of slain, 


188 


OTHER VERSES. 


Five score heads were taken, 

Five score heads and twain; 

And the men of the First Shikaris 
Went back to their grave again, 

Each man bearing a basket 
Red as his palms that day, 

Red as the blazing villag e— 

The village of Pabengmay. 

And the “ drip-drip-drip 99 from the baskets 
Reddened the grass by the way. 

They made a pile of their trophies 
High as a tall man’s chin, 

Head upon head distorted, 

Set in a sightless grin, 

Anger and pain and terror 

Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri 
Put the head of the Boh 


THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD. 189 


On the top of the mound of triumph, 

The head of his son below, 

With the sword and the peacock-banner 
That the world might behold and know, 

Thus the samadh was perfect, 

Thus was the lesson plain 
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris— 

The price of a white man slain; 

And the men of the First Shikaris 
Went back into camp again. 

Then a silence came to the river, 

A hush fell over the shore, 

And Bohs that were brave departed, 

And Sniders squibbed no more; 

For the Burmans said 
That a kullcih’s head 
Must he paid for with heads five scora 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester 
Who weeps for her only son / 


190 


OTHER VERSES. 


There’s a grave on the Pdbeng River, 
A grave that the Burmans shun, 
And there’s Suhadar Prag Tewarri 
Who tells how the work was done . 


THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS. 


191 


THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS. 

Beneath the deep veranda’s shade, 
When bats begin to fly, 

I sit me down and watch—alas!— 
Another evening die. 

Blood-red behind the ser eferash 
She rises through the haze. 

Sainted Diana ! can that be 
The Moon of Other Days? 

Ah ! shade of little Kitty Smith, 

Sweet Saint of Kensington! 

Say, was it ever thus at Home 
The Moon of August shone, 

When arm in arm we wandered long 
Through Putney’s evening haze, 

And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath 
The Moon of Other Days ? 


192 


OTHER VERSES. 


But Wandle’s stream is Sutlej now, 

And Putney’s evening haze 
The dust that half a hundred kine 
Before my window raise. 

Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist 
The seething city looms, 

In place of Putney’s golden gorse 
The sickly babul blooms. 

Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust, 
And bid the pie-dog yell, 

Draw from the drain its typlioid-germ, 
Prom each bazaar its smell; 

Yea, suck the fever from the tank 
And sap my strength therewith: 

Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face 
To little Kitty Smith! 


THE OVERLAND MAIL. 


193 


THE OVERLAND MAIL. 

(Foot-Service to the Hills.) 

In the name of the Empress of India, make 
way, 

0 Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam. 
The woods are astir at the close of the day— 

We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. 
Let the robber retreat—let the tiger turn tail— 
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland 
Mail! 

With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in. 

He turns to the foot-path that heads up the 

hill— 

The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, 
And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office 
bill:— 

« Despatched on this date, as received by the rail. 

Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail.” 

*3 


194 OTHER VERSES. 

Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or 
swim. 

Has the rain wrecked the road? He must 
climb by the cliff. 

Does the tempest cry “ Halt 99 ? What are 
tempests to him ? 

The Service admits not a u but” or an “ if.” 

While the breath’s in his mouth, he must bear 
without fail, 

In the Name of the Empress, We Overland Mail. 

From aloe to rose-oak, from rcwe-oak to fir. 

From level to upland, from upland to crest, 

From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to 
spur, 

Fly the soft sandaled feet, strains the brawny 
brown chest. 

From rail to ravine—to the peak from the 
vale— 

Up, up through the night goes the Overland 
Mail. 


THE OVERLAND MAIL. 195 

There’s a speck on the hillside, a dot on the 
road— 

A jingle of bells on the foot-path below— 
There’s a scuffle above in the monkey’s abode— 
The world is awake, and the clouds are aglow. 
For the great Sun himself must attend to the 
hail:— 

“ In the name of the Empress, the Overland 
Mail l” 


196 


OTHER VERSES. 


WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID. 

{June 21st , 1887 .) 

By the well, where the bullocks go 
Silent and blind and slow— 

By the field where the young corn dies 
In the face of the sultry skies, 

They have heard, as the dull Earth hears 
The voice of the wind of an hour, 

The sound of the Great Queen’s voice 
“ My God hath given me years, 

Hath granted dominion and power: 

And I bid you, 0 Land, rejoice.” 

And the plowman settles the share 
More deep in the grudging clod; 

For he saith : 66 The wheat is my care, 
And the rest is the will of God. 

“ He sent the Mahratta spear 
As He sendeth the rain, 


WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID. 197 

And the Mlech, in the fated year. 

Broke the spear in twain, 

And was broken in turn. Who knows 
How our Lords make strife ? 

It is good that the young wheat grows, 

For the bread is Life.” 

Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, 

Hissed up to the scornful dark 
Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue, 

That rose and faded, and rose anew, 

That the Land might wonder and mark 
“ To-day is a day of days,” they said, 

“ Make merry, 0 People, all! ” 

And the Plowman listened and bowed his head:—- 
u To-day and to-morrow God’s will,” he said, 

As lie trimmed the lamps on the wall. 

“ He sendeth us years that are good, 

As He sendeth the dearth. 

He giveth to each man his food, 

Or Her food to the Earth. 


198 


OTHER VERSES. 


Our Kings and our Queens are afar— 

On their peoples be peace— 

God bringeth the rain to the Bar, 

That our cattle increase.” 

And the Plowman settled the share 
More deep in the sun-dried clod :— 

“ Mogul, Mahratta, and Mlech from the North. 
And White Queen over the Seas— 

God raiseth them up and driveth them forth 
As the dust of the plowshare flies in the 
breeze; 

But the wheat and the cattle are all my care, 
And the rest is the will of God.” 


THE UNDERTAKER’S HORSE. 


199 


THE UNDERTAKER’S HORSE. 

“ To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. How can he 
drink tea with the Executioner ? ”—Japanese Proverb . 

The eldest son bestrides him, 

And the pretty daughter rides him, 

And I meet him oft o’ mornings on the Course ; 
And there wakens in my bosom 
An emotion chill and gruesome 
As I canter past the Undertaker’s Horse. 

Neither shies he nor is restive. 

But a hideously suggestive 

Trot, professional and placid, he affects; 

And the cadence of his hoof-beats 
To my mind, this grim reproof beats:— 

“ Mend your pace, my friend, I’m coming. Who’s 
the next ? 99 


20 () OTHER VERSES. 

All! stud-bred of ill-omen, 

I have watched the strongest go—men 
Of pith and might and muscle—at your heels, 
Down the plantain-bordered highway, 

(Heaven send it ne’er be my way!) 

In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. 


Answer, somber beast and dreary. 

Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, 

Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the 
. Force ? 

You were at that last dread dak 
We must cover at a walk, 

Bring them back to me, 0 Undertaker’s Horse ! 


With your mane unhogged and flowing, 

And your curious way of going, 

And that business-like black crimping of your 
tail, 

E’en with Beauty on your hack, sir, 


THE UNDERTAKER’S HORSE. 


201 


Pacing as a lady’s hack, Sir, 

What wonder when I meet you I turn pale ? 


It may be you wait your time, Beast, 

Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast, 

Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the 
glass, 

Follow after with the others, 

Where some dusky heathen smothers 
Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass. 


Or, perchance, in years to follow, 

I shall watch your plump sides hollow, 

See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse, 
See old age at last o’erpower you, 

And the Station Pack devour you, 

I shall chuckle then, 0 Undertaker’s Horse I 


But to insult, gibe, and quest, I’ve 
Still the hideously suggestive 


202 OTHER VERSES. 

Trot that hammers out the grim and warning 
text, 

And I hear it hard behind me. 

In what place soe’er I find me :— 

* Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who’s the 
next?” 


THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE. 203 


THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE. 

This fell when dinner-time was done— 
’Twixt the first an’ the second rub— 
That oor man Jock cam’ hame again 
To his rooms ahint the Club. 


An* syne he laughed, an* syne he sang, 
An’ syne we thocht him fou, 

An’ syne he trumped his partner’s trick. 
An* garred his partner rue. 


Then up and spake an elder mon, 

That held the Spade its Ace— 
tc God save the lad ! Whence comes the licht 
That wimples on his face ? w 


204 OTHER VERSES* 

An’ Jock lie sniggered, an’ Jock he smiled. 
An’ ower the card-brim wunk :— 

“ I’m a’ too fresh fra’ the stirrup-peg, 

May be that I am drunk.” 


“ There’s whusky brewed in Galashiels, 
An’ L. L. L. forbye; 

But never liquor lit the low 
That keeks fra’ oot your eye. 


<s There’s a thrid o’ hair on your dress-coat breast, 
Aboon the heart a wee ? ” 

“ Oh ! that is fra’ the lang-haired Skye 
That slobbers ower me.” 


u Oh ! lang-haired Skyes are lovin’ beasts, 
An’ terrier dogs are fair, 

But never yet was terrier born 
Wi’ ell-lang gowden hair \ 


THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE. 205 

u There’s a smirch o’ pouther on your breast, 
Below the left lappel ? ” 
iC Oh! that is fra’ my auld cigar, 

Whenas the stump-end fell.” 


“ Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, 
For ye are short o’ cash, 

An* best Havanas couldna leave 
Sae white an’ pure an ash. 


“ This nichtye stopped a story braid, 
An’ stopped it wi' a curse— 

Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel. 
An' capped it wi' a worse! 


a Oh ! we're no fou! Oh! we're no fon 

But plainly we can ken 
Ye're fallin,' failin', fra the band 
O' cantie single men !” 


206 


OTHER VERSES. 


An it fell when sirWs-shaws were sere> 
An’ the nichts were lang and mirk, 

In braw new breeks, wi* a gowden ring, 
Oor Jockie gaed to the Kirk. 




ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER. 


207 


ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER. 

A great and glorious thing it is 
To learn, for seven years or so, 

The Lord knows whaf of that and this, 

Ere reckoned fit to face the foe— 

The flying bullet down the Pass, 

That whistles clear: “ All flesh is grass.” 

Three hundred pounds per annum spent 
On making brain and body meeter 
For all the murderous intent 

Comprised in “ villanous saltpetre! ” 

And after—ask the Yusufzaies 
What comes of all our ’ologies. 

A scrimmage in a Border Station— 

A canter down some dark defile-** 


208 


OTHER VERSES. 


Two thousand pounds of education 
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail — 

The Crammer’s boast, the Squadron’s pride, 

Shot like a rabbit in a ride! 

No proposition Euclid wrote, 

No formulae the text books know. 

Will turn the bullet from your coat, 

Or ward the tulwar’s downward blow. 

Strike hard who cares—shoot straight who can— 
The odds are on the cheaper man. 

One sword-knot stolen from the camp 
Will pay for all the school expenses 
Of any Kurrum Valley scamp 

Who knows no word or moods and tenses, 

But, being blessed with perfect sight, 

Picks off our messmates left and right. 

With home-bred hordes the hill-sides teem. 

The troop-ships bring us one by one. 


209 


ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER. 

At vast expense of time and steam, 

To slay Afridis where they run. 

The “ captives of our bow and spear ” 

Are cheap—alas ! as we are dear. 

*4 


210 


OTHER VERSES. 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 

{Lord Duffer in to Lord Lansdowne .) 

So here’s your Empire. No more wine, then ? 
Good. 

We’ll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away. 
(You’ll know that fat old fellow with the knife— 
He keeps the Name Book, talks in English too, 
And almost thinks himself the Government.) 

0 Youth, Youth, Youth ! Forgive me, you’re s« 
young. 

Forty from sixty—twenty years of work 
And power to back the working. Ay de mi / 
You want to know, you want to see, to touch, 
And, by your lights, to act. It’s natural. 

I wonder can I help you. Let me try. 

You saw—what did you see from Bombay east? 
Enough to frighten any one but me ? 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 211 

Neat that ! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four! 
You shouldn’t take a man from Canada 
And bid him smoke in powder magazines ; 

Nor with a Reputation such as—Bah ! 

That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 

My Reputation now full blown—Your fault— 
Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home, 
Who’s up, who’s down, who leads and who is 
led— 

One reads so much, one hears so little here. 

Well, now’s your turn of exile. I go back 
To Rome and leisure. All roads lead to Rome, 
Or books—the refuge of the destitute. 

When you . . . that brings me back to India 
See! 

Start clear. I couldn’t. Egypt served my turn. 
You’ll never plumb the Oriental mind, 

And if you did it isn’t worth the toil. 

Think of a sleek French priest in Canada > 

Divide by twenty half breeds. Multiply 
By twice the Sphinx’s silence. There’s your East, 


212 


OTHER VERSES. 


And you’re as wise as ever. So am I. 

Accept on trust and work in darkness, strike 
At venture, stumble forward, make your mark, 
(It’s chalk on granite), then thank God no flame 
Leaps from the rock to shrivel mark and man. 
I’m clear—my mark is made. Three months of 
drought 

Had ruined much. It rained and washed away 
The specks that might have gathered on my 
Name. 

I took a country twice the size of France, 

And shuttered up one doorway in the North. 

I stand by those. You’ll find that both will pay, 
I pledged my Name on both—they’re yours 
to-night. 

Hold to them—they hold fame enough for two. 
I’m old, but I shall live till Burma pays. 

Men there —not German traders—Cr-sthw-to 
knows— 

You’ll find it in my papers. For the North 
Guns always—quietly—but always guns- 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 


213 


You’ve seen your Council? Yes, they’ll try to 
rule, 

And prize their Reputations. Have you met 
A grim lay-reader with a taste for coins, 

And faith in Sin most men withhold from 
God? 

He’s gone to England. R-p-n knew his grip 
And kicked. A Council always has its H-pes. 
They look for nothing from the West but Death 
Or Bath or Bournemouth. Here’s their ground. 

They fight 

Until the middle classes take them back, 

One of ten millions plus a C. S. I. 

Or drop in harness. Legion of the Lost? 

Not altogether—earnest, narrow men, 

But chiefly earnest, and they’ll do your work, 
And end by writing letters to the Times . 

(Shall I write letters, answering H-nt-r—fawn 
With R-p-n on the Yorkshire grocers? Ugh!) 
They have their Reputations. Look to one— 

I work with him—the smallest of them all, 


214 OTHER VERSES. 

White-haired, red-faced, who sat the plunging 
horse 

Out in the garden. He’s your right-hand man, 
And dreams of tilting W-ls-y from the throne, 
But while he dreams gives work we cannot buy 5 
He has his Reputation—wants the Lords 
By way of Frontier Roads. Meantime, I think, 
He values very much the hand that falls 
Upon his shoulder at the Council table— 

Hates cats and knows his business: which is 
yours. 

Your business! Twice a hundred million souls. 
Your business! I could tell you what I did 
Some nights of Eighty-Five, at Simla, worth 
A Kingdom’s ransom. When a big ship drives, 
God knows to what new reef the man at the 
wheel 

Prays with the passengers. They lose their lives, 
Or rescued go their way; but he’s no man 
To take his trick at the wheel again—that’s 


worse 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 


215 


Than drowning. Well, a galled Mashobra mule 

(You’ll see Mashobra) passed me on the Mall, 

And I was—some fool’s wife had ducked and 
bowed 

To show the others I would stop and speak. 

Then the mule fell—three galls, a hand-breadth 
each, 

Behind the withers. Mrs. Whatsisname 

Leers at the mule and me by turns, thweet 
thoul! 

“ How could they make him carry such a load! ” 

I saw—it isn’t often I dream dreams— 

More than the mule that minute—smoke and 
flame 

From Simla to the haze below. That’s weak. 

You’re younger. You’ll dream dreams before 
you’ve done. 

You’ve youth, that’s one—good workmen—that 
means two 

Fair chances in your favor. Fate’s the third. 

I know what I did. Do you ask me, “ Preach “ r 1 


216 


OTHER VERSES. 


I answer by my past or else go back 
To platitudes of rule—or take you thus 
In confidence and say:—“ You know the trick: 
You’ve governed Canada. You know. You 
know! ” 

And all the while commend you to Fate’s hand 
(Here at the top one loses sight o’ God), 
Commend you, then, to something more than 
you— 

The Other People’s blunders and . . . that’s all. 
I’d agonize to serve you if I could. 

It’s incommunicable, like the cast 
That drops the tackle with the gut adry. 

Too much—too little—there’s your salmon lost I 
And so I tell you nothing—wish you luck, 

And wonder—how I wonder!—for your sake 
And triumph for my own. You’re young, you’re 
young, 

You hold to half a hundred Shibboleths. 

I’m old. I followed Power to the last, 

Gave her my best, and Power followed Me. 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 


217 


It’s worth it—on my soul I’m speaking plain. 
Here by the claret glasses!—worth it all. 

I gave—no matter what I gave—I win. 

1 know I win. Mine’s work, good work that 
live! 

A country twice the size of France—the North 
Safeguarded. That’s my record: sink the rest 
And better if you can. The Rains may serve, 
Rupees may rise—three pence will give you 
Fame— 

It’s rash to hope for sixpence—If they rise 
Get guns, more guns, and lift the salt-tax. 

Oh! 

I told you what the Congress meant or thought? 
I’ll answer nothing. Half a year will prove 
The full extent of time and thought you’ll spare 
To Congress. Ask a Lady Doctor once 
How little Begums see the light—deduce 
Thence how the True Reformer’s child is born. 
It’s interesting, curious . . . and vile. 

I told the Turk he was a gentleman. 


218 OTHER VERSES. 

I told the Russian that his Tartar veins 
Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred. 

The Congress doesn’t purr. I think it swears. 
You’re young—you’ll swear too ere you’ve reached 
the end. 

The End ! God help you, if there be a God. 
(There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne’s soul 
In that new land where all the wires are cut, 
And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.) 

God help you! And I’d help you if I could, 
But that’s beyond me. Yes, your speech was 
crude. 

Sound claret after olives—yours and mine ; 

But Medoc slips into vin ordinaire. 

(I’ll drink my first at Genoa to your health.) 
Raise it to Hock. You’ll never catch my style. 
And, after all, the middle-classes grip 
The middle-class—for Brompton talk Earl’s 
Court. 

Perhaps you’re right. I’ll see you in the 
Times— 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 


219 


A quarter-column of eye-searing print, 

A leader once a quarter—then a war; 

The Strand abellow through the fog: “ De¬ 
feat ! ” 

u ’Orrible slaughter ! ” While you lie awake 
And wonder. Oh, you’ll wonder ere you’re 
free! 

I wonder now. The four years slide away 
So fast, so fast, and leave me here alone. 

R—y, C-lv-n, L—1, R-b-rts, B-ck, the rest, 
Princes and Powers of Darkness, troops and 
trains, 

(I cannot sleep in trains), land piled on land, 
Whitewash and weariness, red rockets, dust, 
White snows that mocked me, palaces—-with 
draughts, 

And W-stl-nd with the drafts he couldn’t pay. 
Poor W-ls-n reading his obituary 
Before he died, and H-pe, the man with 
bones. 

And A-tch-s-n a dripping mackintosh 


220 


OTHER VERSES. 


At Council in the Rains, his grating “ Sirrr ” 
Half drowned by H-nt-r’s silky;—“Bat my 
lahd.” 

Hunterian always : M-rsh-1 spinning plates 
Or standing on his head; the Rent Bill’s roar, 

A hundred thousand speeches, much red cloth, 
And Smiths thrice happy if I call them Jones, 

(I can’t remember half their names) or reined 
My pony on the Mall to greet their wives. 

More trains, more troops, more dust, and then 
all’s done. 

Four years, and I forget. If I forget 
How will they bear me in their minds? The 
North 

Safeguarded—nearly (R-b-rts knows the rest), 
A country twice the size of France annexed. 

That stays at least. The rest may pass— may 
pass— 

Your heritage—and I can teach you nought. 

“ High trust,” “vast honor,” “ interests twice as 
vast,” 


ONE VICEROY RESIGNS. 221 

ic Due reverence to your Council ”—keep to 
those. 

I envy you the twenty years you’ve gained, 

But not the five to follow. What’s that? One? 
Two !—Surely not so late. Good night. Don’t 
dr earn. 


222 


OTHER VERSES* 


THE BETROTHED. 


“ You must choose between me and your cigar.* 


Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, 

For things are running crossways, and Maggie 
and I are out. 


We quarreled about Havanas—we fought o’er a 
good cheroot, 

And I know she is exacting, and she says I am 
a brute. 


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a 
space; 

In the soft blue veil of the vapor, musing on 
Maggie’s face. 


THE BETROTHED. 


223 


Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving 
lass. 

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest 
of loves must pass. 


There’s peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a 
Henry Clay, 

But the best cigar in an hour is finished and 
thrown away— 


Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and 
brown— 

But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ 
the talk o’ the town ! 


Maggie, my wife at fifty—gray and dour and 
old— 

With never another Maggie to purchase for love 
or gold! 


224 OTHER VERSES. 

And the light of Days that have Been the dark 
of the Days that Are, 

And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the 
butt of a dead cigar— 


The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep 
in your pocket— 

With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred 
and black to the socket. 


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a 
while— 

Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely 
smile. 


Which is the better portion—bondage bought 
with a ring, 

Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a 
string ? 


THE BETROTHED. 225 

Counselors cunning and silent—comforters true 
and tried, 

Amd never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival 
bride. 


Thought in the early morning, solace in time of 
woes, 

Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my 
eyelids close. 


This will the fifty give me, asking nought in 
return, 

With only a Suttee's passion—to do their duty 
and burn. 


This will the fifty give me. When they are 
spent and dead, 

Five times other fifties shall be my servants 

instead. 

*5 


226 OTHER VERSES. 

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the 
Spanish Main, 

When they hear my harem is empty, will send 
me my brides again. 


I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food 
for their mouths withal 

So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the 
showers fall. 


I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will 
I temper their hides, 

And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who 
read of the tale of my brides. 


For Maggie has written a letter to give me my 
choice between 

The wee little whimpering Love and the great 
god Nick o’ Teen. 


THE BETROTHED. 22 ? 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a 
twelvemonth clear, 

But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of 
seven year; 


And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked 
with the cheery light 

Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and 
Pleasure and Work and Fight. 


And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie 
and I must prove, 

But the only light on the marshes is the Will- 
o’-the-Wisp of Love. 


Will it see me safe through my journey, or 
leave me bogged in the mire? 

Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall 1 
follow the fitful fire? * 


228 


OTHER VERSES. 


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew™ 
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should 
abandon you? 


A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear 
the yoke; 

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar 
is a Smoke. 


Light me another Cuba; I hold to my first-sworn 
vows, 

If Maggie will have no rival. I’ll have no 
Maggie for spouse! 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 


229 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 

Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles 
On his byles; 

Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow 
Come and go; 

Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea. 

Hides and ghi ; 

Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints 
In his-prints; 

Stands a City—Charnock chose it—packed away 
Near a Bay— 

By the sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer 
Made impure, 

By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp 
Moist and damp; 

And the City and the Viceroy, as we see, 

Don’t agree. 


230 OTHER VERSES. 

Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came. 
Meek and tame, 

Where his timid foot first halted, there he 
stayed, 

Till mere trade 

Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth 
South and North 

Till the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 
Was his own. 

Thus the mid-day halt of Charnock—more’s the 
pity! 

Grew a City. 

As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, 

So it spread— 

Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built 
On the silt— 

Palace, byre, hovel—poverty and pride— 

Side by side; 

And, above the packed and pestilential 
town, 


Death looked down. 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 


231 


But the Rulers in that City by the Sea 
Turned to flee— 

Fled, with each returning spring-tide from its ills 
To the Hills. 

From the clammy fogs of morning, from the 
• blaze 

Of the days. 

From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat, 
Beat retreat; 

For the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 
Was their own. 

But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain 
For his gain. 

Now the resting-place of Charnock, hieath the 
palms, 

Asks an alms, 

And the burden of its lamentation is, 

Briefly, this:— 

“ Because, for certain months, we boil and stew. 
So should you. 


232 OTHER VERSES. 

Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire 
In our fire ! ” 

And for answer to the argument, in vain 
We explain 

That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot fry 
“ All must fry ! ” 

That the Merchant risks the perils of the Plain 
For his gain. 

Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow 
rich in, 

From its kitchen. 

Let the Babu drop inflammatory hints 
In his prints ; 

And mature—consistent soul—his plan for steal¬ 
ing 

To Darjeeling: 

Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pil^ 
England’s isle; 

Let the City Charnock pitched on—evil day !-— 
Go Her way. 


A TALE ^ TWO CITIES. 233 

Thougn the argosies of Asia at Her doors 
Heap their stores, 

Though her enterprise and energy secure 
Income sure, 

Though <c out-station orders punctually obeved 
• Swell Her trade— 

Still* for rule, administration, and the res^ 
tSinila’s best 


234 


OTHER VERSES. 


GRIFFEN’S DEBT. 

Imprimis be was “ broke.” Thereafter left 
His regiment, and, later, took to drink; 

Then, having lost the balance of his friends, 

“ Went Fantee ”—joined the people of the land, 
Turned three parts Mussulman and one Hindu, 
And lived among the Gauri villagers, 

Who gave him shelter and a wife or twain, 

And boasted that a thorough, full-blood sahib 
Had come among them. Thus he spent his time, 
Deeply indebted to the village shroff, 

(Who never asked for payment) always drunk. 
Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels; 

Forgetting that he was an Englishman. 

You know they dammed the Gauri with a dam, 
And all the good contractors scamped their 
work. 


griffen’s DEB1. 235 

And all the had material at hand 
Was used to dam the Garni—which was cheap, 
And, therefore, proper. Then the Gauri burst, 
And several hundred thousand cubic tons 
Of water dropped into the valley, flop , 

And drowned some five and twenty villagers, 
And did a lakh or two of detriment 
To crops and cattle. When the flood went 
down 

We found him dead, beneath an old dead I orse, 
Full six miles down the valley. So we saia 
He was a victim to the Demon Drink, 

And moralized upon him for a week, 

And then forgot him. Which was natural. 


But, in the valley of the Gauri, men 
Beneath the shadow of the big new dam 
Relate a foolish legend of the flood, 
Accounting for the little loss of life 
(Only those five and twenty villagers) 

In this wise : On the evening of the flood* 


236 


OTHER VERSES. 


They heard the groaning of the rotten dam. 

And voices of the Mountain Devils. Then 
An incarnation of the local God, 

Mounted upon a monster-neighing horse, 

And flourishing a flail-like whip, came down, « 
Breathing ambrosia, to the villages, 

And fell upon the simple villagers 
With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, 
And blows beyond the power of mortal 
hand, 

And smote them with the flail-like whip, and 
drove 

Them clamorous with terror up the hill. 

And scattered, with the monster-neighing steed, 
Their crazy cottages about their ears, 

And generally cleared those villages. 

Then came the water, and the local God, 
Breathing ambrosia, flourishing his whip, 

And mounted on his monster-neighing steed, 
Went down the valley with the flying trees 
And residue of homesteads, while they watched 


griffen’s debt. 237 

Safe on the mountain-side these wondrous 
things, 

And knew that they were much beloved of 
Heaven. 

Wherefore, and when the dam was newly built, 
They raised a temple to the local God, 

And burned all manner of unsavory things 
Upon his altar, and created priests, 

And blew into a conch, and banged a bell, 

And told the story of the Gauri flood 
With circumstance and much embroidery. 

So he the whiskified Objectionable, 

Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels. 

Became the tutelary Deity 
Of all the Gauri valley villages; 

And may in time become a Solar Myth. 


238 


OTHER VERSES- 


IN SPRINGTIME. 

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush 
and the peach, 

And the koil sings above it, in the siris by 
the well, 

From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squir¬ 
rel’s chattering speech, 

And the blue-jay screams and flutters where 
the cheery sat-bhcti dwell. 

But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil 9 8 
note is strange; 

I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom* 
burdened bough. 

Give me back the leafless woodlands where the 
winds of Springtime range— 

Give me back one day in England, for it’s 
Spring in England now ! 


IN SPRINGTIME. 239 

Through the pines the gusts are booming, o’er 
the brown fields blowing chill, 

From the furrow of the plowshare streams the 
fragrance of the loam, 

And the hawk nests on the cliff-side and the 
jackdaw in the hill, 

And my heart is hack in England mid the 
sights and sounds of Home. 

But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of 
rose and peach is; 

Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris 
bough, 

In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless hell¬ 
like speech is— 

Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring 
in England now ? 


240 


OTHER VERSES, 


TWO MONTHS. 

IN JUNE. 

No hope, no change! The clouds have shut 
us in 

And through the clouds the sullen Sun strikes 
down 

Full on the bosom of the tortured Town. 

Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin 

That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease. 

And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in 
spite 

Glares through the haze and mocks with 
watery light 

The torment of the uncomplaining trees. 

Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair 

To echoing Earth, thrice parched. The light¬ 
nings fly 


TWO MONTHS. 241 

In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, 
But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. 
What truce with Dawn ? Look, from the aching 

sky, 

Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword! 


IN SEPTEMBER. 

At dawn there was a murmur in the trees, 

A ripple on the tank, and in the air 
Presage of coming coolness—every¬ 

where 

A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. 

Up leapt the sun and smote the dust to gold, 
And strove to parch anew the heedless land, 
All impotently, as a King grown old 

Wars for the Empire crumbling ’neath his 
hand. 


One after one, the lotos-petals fell, 
Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year 


242 


OTHER VERSES. 


In mutiny against a furious sky; 

And far-off Winter whispered: “ It is well! 
Hot Summer dies. Behold, your help is near, 
For when men’s need is sorest, then come L M 


THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 


243 


THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 

Oh, gallant was our galley from her carven 
steering-wheel 

To her figurehead of silver and her beak of 
hammered steel; 

The leg-bar chafed the ankle, and we gasped for 
cooler air, 

But no galley on the water with our galley could 
compare! 

Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts 
were stepped in gold— 

We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the 

hold; 


244 OTHER VERSES. 

The white foam spun behind us, and the black 
shark swam below, 

As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we 
made that galley go. 

It was merry in the galley, for we reveled now 
and then— 

If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought 
and loved like men ! 

As we snatched her through the water, so we 
snatched a minute’s bliss, 

And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the 
lovers’ kiss. 

Our women and our children toiled beside us in 
the dark— 

They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved 
them to the shark— 

We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the 
galley sped, 

We had only time to envy, for we could not 
mourn our dead. 


THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 245 

Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit 
gang were we— 

The servants of the sweep-head, but the masters 
of the sea! 

By the hands that drove her forward as she 
plunged and yawed and sheered. 

Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there any¬ 
thing we feared? 

Was it storm? Our fathers faced it, and a 
wilder never blew; 

Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the 
galley struggle through. 

Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, 
Sorrow, Parting, Death ? 

Nay, our very babes would mock you, had they 
time for idle breath. 

But to-day I leave the galley, and another takes 
my place; 

There’s my name upon the deck-beam—let it 
stand a little space. 


246 OTHER VERSES. 

I am free—to watch my messmates beating out 
to open main, 

Free of all that Life can offer—save to handle 
sweep again. 

By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of 
clinging steel, 

By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars 
that never heal; 

By eyes grown old with staring through the sun- 
wash on the brine, 

I am paid in full for service—would that service 
still were mine! 

Yet they talk of times and seasons and of wo 
the years bring forth, 

Of our galley swamped and shattered in the 
rollers of the North. 

When the niggers break the hatches, and the 
decks are gay with gore, 

And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on 
the shore. 


THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 


247 


She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, 
or rocket-flare, 

When the cry for help goes seaward, she will 
And her servants there. 

Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts 
of years gone by, 

To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall 
lash themselves and die. 

Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, 
shipped away— 

Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale 
that day, 

When the skies are black above them, and the 
decks ablaze beneath, 

And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp- 
knives in their teeth. 

It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to 
row once more— 

Set some strong man free for fighting as I take 
awhile his oar. 


248 OTHER VERSES. 

But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her 
service then ? 

God be thanked—whate’er comes after, I have 
lived and toiled with Men I 




Ii’KNVOI. 


249 


L’ENVOI. 

(To whom it may concern .) 

The smoke upon your Altar dies, 

Tlie flowers decay, 

The Goddess of your sacrifice 
Has flown away. 

What profit then to sing or slay 
The sacrifice from day to day ? 

u We know the Shrine is void,” they said, 
“ The Goddess flown— 

Yet wreaths are on the Altar laid— 

The Altar-Stone 
Ts black with fumes of sacrifice, 

Albeit She has fled our eyes. 

(i For, it may be, if still we sing 
And tend the Shrine, 


^50 


OTHER VERSES. 

Some Deity on wandering wing 
May there incline; 

And, finding all in order meet, 

Stay while we worship at Her feet* 


THE CONUNDRUM OP THE WORKSHOPS. 251 


THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS. 

W hen the flush of a new-born sun fell first on 
Eden’s green and gold, 

Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched 
with a stick in the mold; 

And the first rude sketch that the world had seen 
was joy to his mighty heart, 

Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: “ It’s 
pretty, but is it art ? ” 

Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to 
fashion his work anew— 

The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, 
most dread review ; 

And he left his lore to the use of his sons—and 
that was a glorious gain 

When the Devil chuckled : “Is it art?” in the 
ear of the branded Cain. 


252 OTHER VERSES. 

They builded a tower to shiver the shy and 
wrench the stars apart, 

Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks : “ It’s 
striking, but is it art ? ” 

The stone was dropped by the quarry-side, and 
the idle derrick swung, 

While each man talked of the aims of art, and 
each in an alien tongue. 

They fought and they talked in the north and the 
south, they talked and they fought in the west, 

Till the waters rose on the jabbering land, and 
the poor Red Clay had rest— 

Had rest till the dank blank-canvas dawn when 
the dove was preened to start, 

And the Devil bubbled below the keel: “ It’s 
human, but is it art ? ” 

The tale is old as the Eden Tree—as new as the 
new-cut tooth— 

For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he 
is master of art and truth; 


THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS. 253 

And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the 
beat of his dying heart, 

The Devil drum on the darkened pane: “ You 
did it, but was it art ? ” 

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to 
the shape of a surplice-peg, 

We have learned to bottle our parents twain in 
the yolk of an addled egg, 

We know that the tail must wag the dog, as the 
horse is drawn by the cart; 

But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: 

“ It’s clever, but is it art ? ” 

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on 
the club-room’s green and gold, 

The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch 
with their pens in the mold— 

They scratch with their pens in the mold of their 
graves, and the ink and the anguish start 
When the Devil mutters behind the leaves : “ It’s 
pretty, but is it art? v 


254 OTHER VERSES. 

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where 
the four great rivers flow, 

And the wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she 
left it long ago, 

And if we could come when the sentry slept, and 
softly scurry through, 

By the favor of God we might know as much 
—as our father Adam knew. 


THE EXPLANATION. 


2 55 


THE EXPLANATION. 

Love and Death once ceased their strife 
At the Tavern of Man’s Life. 

Called for wine, and threw—alas !— 
Each his quiver on the grass. 

When the bout was o’er they found 
Mingled arrows strewed the ground. 
Hastily they gathered then 
Each the loves and lives of men. 

Ah, the fateful dawn deceived ! 

Mingled arrows each one sheaved: 
Death’s dread armory was stored 
With the shafts he most abhorred: 
Love’s light quiver groaned beneath 
Venom-headed darts of Death, 

Thus it was they wrought our woe 


256 


OTHER VERSES. 


At the Tavern long ago. 

Tell me, do our masters know, 
Loosing blindly as they fly, 

Old men love while young men die? 


THE GIFT OF THE SEA. 


257 


THE GIFT OF THE SEA. 

The dead child lay in the shroud, 

And the widow watched beside; 

And her mother slept, and the Channel swept 
The gale in the teeth of the tide. 


But the widow laughed at all. 

“ I have lost my man in the sea, 

And the child is dead. Be still,” she said, 
a What more can you do to me ? ” 


And the widow watched the dead, 

And the candle guttered low, 

And she tried to sing the Passing Song 

Th at bids the poor soul go. 

•7 


258 OTHER VERSES. 

And “ Mary take you now,” she sang, 

“ That lay against my heart.” 

And “ Mary smooth your crib to-night,” 
But she could not say “ Depart.” 


Then came a cry from the sea, 

But the sea-rime blinded the glass, 

And “ Heard ye nothing, mother ? ” she said 
“ ’Tis the child that waits to pass.” 


And the nodding mother sighed. 

“ ’Tis a lambing ewe in the whin, 

For why should the christened soul cry out, 
That never knew of sin ? ” 


“ Oh, feet I have held in my hand, 

Oh, hands at my heart to catch, 

How should they know the road to go, 
And how should they lift the latch ? ” 


THE GIFT OF THE SEA. 


259 


They laid a sheet to the door, 

With the little quilt atop, 

That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt, 
But the crying would not stop. 


The widow lifted the latch 
And strained her eyes to see, 

And opened the door on the bitter shore 
To let the soul go free. 


There was neither glimmer nor ghost, 

There was neither spirit nor spark, 

And “ Heard ye nothing, mother ? ” she said, 
“ ’Tis crying for me in the dark.” 


And the nodding mother sighed. 

“ ’Tis sorrow makes ye dull; 

Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, 
Or the wail of the wind-blown gull ? ” 


260 OTHER VERSES. 

u The terns are blown inland, 

The gray gull follows the plow. 
’Twas never a bird, the voice I heard, 
0 mother, I hear it now ! 99 


u Lie still, dear lamb, lie still; 

The child is passed from harm, 

# Tis the ache in your breast that broke your 
rest, 

And the feel of an empty arm.” 


She puts her mother aside, 

“ In Mary’s name let be ! 

For the peace of my soul I must go,” she said. 
And she went to the calling sea. 


In the heel of the wind-bit pier, 

Where the twisted weed was piled, 

She came to the life she had missed by an hour, 
For she came to a little child. 


THE GIFT OF THE SEA. ^51 

She laid it into her breast, 

And back to her mother she came, 

But it would not feed, and it would not heed, 
Though she gave it her own child’s name. 

And the dead child dripped on her breast, 
And her own in the shroud lay stark; 

And, “ God forgive us, mother/’ she said, 

“ We let it die in the dark ! ” 


262 


OTHER VERSES. 


EVARRA AND HIS GODS. 

Read here , 

This is the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea . 

Because the city gave him of her gold, 

Because the caravans brought turquoises, 
Because his life was sheltered by the King, 

So that no man should maim him, none should 
steal, 

Or break his rest with babble in the streets 
When he was weary after toil, he made 
An image of his God in gold and pearl, 

With turquoise diadem and human eyes, 

A wonder in the sunshine, known afar 
And worshiped by the King; but, drunk with 
pride, 

Because the city bowed to him for God* 


EVARRA AND HIS GODS. 263 

He wrote above the shrine: “ Thus Gods are 
made , 

And whoso makes them otherwise shall die .” 

And all the city praised him. . . . Then he 

died. 


Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea . 
Because his city had no wealth to give, 
Because the caravans were spoiled afar, 
Because his life was threatened by the King, 
So that all men despised him in the streets, 

He hacked the living rock, with sweat and 
tears, 

And reared a God against the morning-gold, 

A terror in the sunshine, seen afar, 

And worshiped by the King; but, drunk with 
pride, 

Because the city fawned to bring him back, 

He carved upon the plinth : u Thus Gods are 
made , 


264 OTHER VERSES. 

And whoso makes them otherwise shall 


die 

And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
died. 


Read here the story ofEvarra — man~ 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 

Because he lived among the simple folk, 

Because his village was between the hills, 

Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of 
ewes, 

He cut an idol from a fallen pine, 

Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a 
shell 

Above its brows for eye, and gave it hair 

Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for 
crown. 

And all the village praised him for this 
craft, 

And brought him butter, honey, milk, and 
curds. 


EVARRA AND HIS GODS. 265 

Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him 
mad, 

He scratched upon that log: “ Thus Gods are 

made , 

And whoso makes them otherwise shall die * 
And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
died. 


Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 

Because his God decreed one clot of blood 
Should swerve a hair’s-breadth from the pulse’s 
path, 

And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone, 
Rag-wrapped, among the cattle in the fields, 
Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees, 
And mocking at the mist, until his God 
Drove him to labor. Out of dung and 
horns 

Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous 

God, 


266 


OTHER VERSES. 


Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plaintain 
tufts. 

And when the cattle lowed at twilight-time, 

He dreamed it was the clamor of lost crowds, 
And howled among the beasts: u Thus Gods 

are made , 

And whoso makes them otherwise shall die” 
Thereat the cattle bellowed. . . . Then he died. 


Yet at the last he came to Paradise, 

And found his own four Gods, and that he 
wrote; 

And marveled, being very near to God, 

What oaf on earth had made his toil God’s law, 
Till God said, mocking: “ Mock not. These be 
tliine.” 

Then cried Evarra : “ I have sinned ! ”— “ Not 
so. 

If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods 
Had rested in the mountain and the mine, 

And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods, 


EVARRA AND HIS GODS. 267 

And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. Thine, 
Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine.” 
Thereat with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes; 
Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 

This is the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 


268 


OTHER VERSES. 


RECESSIONAL. 

A VICTORIAN ODE. 

God of our fathers, known of old— 

Lord of our far-flung battle line— 
Beneath whose awful hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine— 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

The tumult and the shouting dies— 

The Captains and the Kings depart— 
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice. 

An humble and a contrite heart. 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 

Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

Fare ailed our navies melt away— 

On dune and headland sinks the fire— 
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 

Lest we forget—lest we forget I 


RECESSIONAL. 


269 


K, drunk with sight of power we loose 
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe— 
Such boastings as the Gentiles use, 

Or lesser breeds without the Law- 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard— 

All valiant dust that builds on dust, 

And guarding calls not Thee to guard. 
For frantic boast and foolish word, 

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord ! 

Amen. 


270 


OTHER VERSES. 


L’ENVOI. 

What is the moral ? Who rides may read. 
When the night is thick and the tracks 
blind 

A friend at a pinch is a friend indeed ; 

But a fool to wait tor the laggard behind; 
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

White hands cling to the tightened rein, 
Slipping the spur from the booted heel, 
Tenderest voices cry, “Turn again,” 

Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel, 

High hopes faint on a warm hearthstone— 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

One may fall but he falls by himself— 

Falls by himself with himself to blame 
One may attain and to him is the pelf, 

Loot of the city in Gold or Fame: 

Plunder of earth shall be all his own 
Who travels the fastest and travels alone. 


l’envoi. 271 

Wherefore the more ye be holpen and stayed— 
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil, 

Sins: the heretical son of I have made— 

His be the labor and yours be the spoil. 

Win by his aid and the aid disown— 

He travels the fastest who travels alone< 


THE END, 


INDEX TO FIRST LINES 


vxoa 

A great and glorious thing it is.20? 

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “ Operatic Own ”. 61 

A Much-Discerning Public hold.113 

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely 169 

’Ave you ’eard o’ the Widow at Windsor. 26 

Ay, lay him ’neath the Simla pine—. 142 

Beneath the deep veranda’s shade.191 

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen. 91 

By the laws of the Family Circle ’tis written in letters of 

brass. 75 

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea. 38 

By the well, where the bullocks go. ... 196 

Delilah Aberyswith was a lady—not too young—. 79 

Dim dawn behind the tamarisks—the sky is saffron- 

yellow—.145 

Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged 

to marry. 71 

Eyes of gray—a sodden quay. 121 

God of our fathers, known of old—...268 

How shall she know the worship we would do her?. 158 

How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet life!. 130 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazar. 81 


273 




















274 


INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 


PAGB 

If down here I chance to die. 124 

If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai. .. 178 
If you’ve ever stole a pheasant-egg be’ind the keeper’s 

back. 1® 

I go to concert, party, ball—. 118 

I had seen, as dawn was breaking... 113 

Imprimis he was “ broke.” Thereafter left.234 

In the name of the Empress of India, make way.193 

It was an artless Bandar , and he danced upon a pine.... 127 
It was an August evening, and, in snowy garments clad. 94 

I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer. 5 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta. 69 

Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse.139 

Jenny and Me were engaged, you see. 88 

Lest you should think this story true. 98 

Love and Death once ceased their strife.255 

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the 

peach.238 

No hope, no change ! The clouds have shut us in.240 

“ None whole or clean,” we cry, “ or free from stain. 102 

Now Jones has left his new-wed bride to keep his house in 

order. 98 

Now the New Year, reviving last Year’s Debt... .110 

Oh, gallant was our galley from her carven steering- 

wheel.243 

Old is the song that I sing—. 61 

One moment bid the horses wait. 157 

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout....222 

Pagett, M. P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith. 149 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E. 64 

Bead here . 262 

Rustum Beg of Kolazai—slightly backward native state.. 61 


























INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 


275 


Shun—shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink. 91 

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’- 

cool. 

So here^ your Empire. No more wine, then ? Good.... 210 

“ Soldier, soldier, come from the wars. 23 

So long as ’neath the Kalka hills. 174 

That night, when through the mooring-chains.163 

The dead child lay in the shroud. 257 

The eldest son bestrides him. 199 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester . 186 

There was a row in Silver Street that’s near to Dublin 

Quay. 52 

The smoke upon your Altar dies...249 

The toad beneath the harrow knows. 149 

“ They are fools who kiss and tell ”.. 88 

This ditty is a string of lies. 64 

This fell when dinner-time was done—.203 

This is the reason why Rustum Beg . 66 

Though tangled and twisted the course of true love. 71 

Too late, alas ! the song... 159 

Troopin’, troopin’, troopin’, to the sea. 29 

Twas Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house. 163 

Twelve hundred million men are spread. 102 

Walpole talks of “ a man and his price.”. 75 

We are very slightly changed,. 59 

We’ve fought with many men acrost the seas. 9 

“ What are the bugles blowin’ for ? ” said Files-on-Parade. 1 

“ What have we ever done to bear this grudge ? ”. 159 

What is the moral ? Who rides may read.... 27G 

When the ’arf-made recruity goes out to the East. 43 

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden’s 
green and gold.251 





























276 


INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 


PAGB 


Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles. 229 

“Why is my District death-rate low ? ”. 94 

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty ;. 107 

Wot makes the soldier’s ’eart to penk, wot makes ’im to 

* perspire?. 13 

You may talk o’ gin an’ beer. 38 




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